


This, I Promise You

by ForForever19



Category: Glee
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/F, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 03:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16442228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForForever19/pseuds/ForForever19
Summary: 'They're best friends. That's what they are. Rachel wouldn't do anything to change that. She just doesn't anticipate that Quinn would.' - Future Faberry.





	1. i, ii

Disclaimer: I, by no means, claim to own anything remotely related to the Glee Universe. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**i. lately, i've been thinking. i want you to be happier.**

 

It starts the night after Quinn Fabray's twenty-third birthday.

Quinn Fabray, who happens to be Rachel Berry's actual, bona fide best friend.

Sometimes, Rachel has to stop and look at her own life to convince herself that her high school tormentor is now the first person on her Speed Dial.

Really.

Rachel tells things to Quinn before she even tells either of her fathers, which is a truth all four of them have come to accept in the years the girls have managed to rebuild a relationship that was never quite given a chance.

They're best friends.

That's what they are.

Rachel wouldn't do anything to change that.

She just doesn't anticipate that Quinn _would_.

 

So, it's late when Rachel gets home from the theatre on that very specific Saturday night in February, but that's never mattered to Quinn Fabray. It's probably Rachel's favourite part of the day, just being able to come home after performing her heart out on stage to find her best friend waiting for her.

And Quinn _is_ waiting for her.

She might be reading a book, writing a paper for one of her classes or even watching a _Netflix_ documentary, but the truth - whether it's acknowledged or not - is that Quinn waits for her, every night, without fail. Even when Rachel has to attend cast parties, she comes home to find her precious blonde asleep on the couch, looking peaceful and utterly adorable.

They live together in New York now, along with Santana and Brittany. Well, the four of them share a three-bedroom apartment. They decided, when Quinn got accepted at Columbia for her postgraduate studies and Brittany decided she wanted _only_ to dance, that they would all find a place together. Kurt and Blaine also share a two-bedroom apartment with Noah in the same building as the girls. They all wanted to be close to one another, particularly when Santana, Rachel and Kurt spent so many years living together during their undergraduate years, before significant others and best friends took preference.

Tonight, though, when Rachel gets home, she finds Quinn sitting perfectly still on the couch, draped in a light throw blanket, and her gaze focused determinedly forward. She isn't reading or typing or watching television. She's just sitting there, and Rachel feels the first inkling that something is _wrong_.

Rachel's own apprehension must be clear to see in her features because Quinn manages to smile at her in reassurance.

"Hey, Rach," she says, her voice oddly somber. "How was the show?"

Rachel very carefully hangs her coat up and removes her scarf as she moves to sit beside Quinn on the couch. There's minimal space between them, which isn't anything new, but Rachel doesn't miss the way Quinn tenses when her knee brushes hers.

Furrowing her brow, Rachel asks, "Is something wrong, Quinn?"

Quinn blinks slowly, as if she's unsure what exactly Rachel's asking of her. "Hmm?"

Slowly, Rachel reaches out to touch her, resting her hand on Quinn's forearm. "Are you okay?"

Quinn stares down at Rachel's hand for a moment, swallows audibly, and then manages to nod her head. "I'm okay," she assures her friend. "I just - " she stops, frowning slightly. "Scott and I broke up."

Rachel's surprise manifests in the narrowing of her eyes and the pursing of her lips. "Oh," she says, suddenly unsure what to say or do. They might be the best of friends _now_ , but there's always been a certain 'awkwardness' whenever it comes to either one of them and their respective boys.

Their history with relationships kind of sees to that.

"Are you okay?" Rachel finds herself asking - again. What else is she supposed to say?

Quinn nods again, looking more sure. "I am," she says. "It was time."

"Did - did something happen?" Rachel asks, her hand sliding along Quinn's forearm, trying to offer some kind of comfort, even though it seems Quinn doesn't seem to need it.

Quinn shifts slightly, sitting back against the couch and pulling Rachel with her until the brunette is practically leaning against her, cradled against her side. The two of them have never been shy about physical contact, but Rachel feels something _different_ in this moment.

She can't explain it.

Quinn wants her close, but positioned so she's not looking at her when she speaks.

"I just turned twenty-three," Quinn starts, and it's as if she's talking to herself. "Yesterday, at the birthday dinner, I just looked over at Scott, and I couldn't see my future." She clears her throat. "Does that make sense?"

Rachel bites the inside of her cheek in thought. "I think so," she says. "It didn't feel like it was going to last?"

Quinn nods. "Something like that, yeah," she says. "I think I knew that from the very beginning, though."

"But you two dated for, umm, four months?"

Quinn shrugs, unable or unwilling to explain.

"Why?"

"To pass the time," she offers. "He's nice, and he's hot."

Rachel giggles softly.

"I don't know," Quinn finally admits. "I thought I got all my bad decisions out of my system in high school and Undergrad. I thought I was finally at a point in my life where I was fully accepting of exactly who I am and what I want to be." Her voice cracks, and Rachel turns her head to study her face.

"Quinn?" she whispers, her eyes tracing the blonde's familiar profile. There's something different, though. There's a… distinct lack of tension, as if she's finally _breathing_.

She looks _free_ , but there's still an undeniable anxiousness in her features.

"I'm not a good person," Quinn says, refusing to look at Rachel, even though she can feel the girl's eyes on her. She can even feel her soft breaths on her skin. "I can be ruthless and selfish, and just plain cruel."

"I know," Rachel tries to joke, but it falls flat.

Quinn looks at her now, and her hazel eyes are darker than Rachel's ever seen. "I'm not a good person, Rachel," she says again, as if she's managed to convince herself of it just be repeating the words. "I want things that I can't have, and I've been fighting with myself not to just _take_."

Rachel frowns, not quite following what Quinn is trying to tell her. "Is - is this supposed to change what I think about you?" she cautiously asks. "Because, I think I've proven time and time again that I don't care about any of that. I _know_ you, Quinn, and I love you, regardless."

Quinn lets out a puff of air that hits Rachel's face, and they both smile. Tentatively, Quinn reaches out with one hand and tucks a lock of hair behind Rachel's ear. "Do you really mean that?" she whispers, her eyes searching Rachel's face for some truth.

"Of course."

Quinn's fingers linger, and she presses her palm to Rachel's warm cheek. "There's nothing I could do that you wouldn't be able to forgive?"

Rachel unconsciously leans into the touch. "Well, I think murder is a hard sell," she says, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Quinn just smiles sadly, and then drops her hand.

"Quinn?"

The blonde chuckles darkly. "You're either truly very special, or just alarmingly naive," she says.

Rachel feels the sting, and pouts. "What's going on?"

Quinn sucks in a deep breath, her eyes meeting Rachel's. For a moment, they just stare at each other, and Rachel actually _sees_ the war going on behind Quinn's deep hazel eyes. It goes on for a full minute, and Rachel can't bring herself to look away. They're close enough that she would have to turn fully away to get respite from the penetrating gaze, but she _really_ doesn't want to do that.

"Quinn," Rachel whispers, needing _something_.

An excuse for this strange behaviour.

The truth.

Just, something.

Rachel reaches for Quinn's hand and holds it between both of her own. "It's okay," she says. "You can tell me. Everything is going to be okay."

Quinn shakes her head. "You can't know that."

"Of course, I do," she counters immediately. "I'm Rachel Berry. Whatever I say is gold. You know that."

Quinn doesn't so much as crack a smile. She doesn't even do that half-smirk thing she does when she's trying not to give in to Rachel's particular brand of humour, and that's enough for Rachel to _know_ this is serious.

"Everything is going to be okay," Rachel repeats, needing to say it as much as Quinn needs to hear it.

Quinn blinks. "Promise?" she asks, her voice _tiny_.

"I promise."

"You'll forgive me?"

"Yes."

"You'll still love me?"

"Nothing could _ever_ change that," she says. The words are simple and easy, which is _nothing_ like what happens immediately after she says them.

There's just a beat of silence, during which Quinn's hand slides to Rachel's waist and hazel eyes meet chestnut brown, asking a question neither one of them knows the words to. It's just a beat when Rachel's breath catches, and her head tilts upwards slightly.

Which, she realises belatedly, is entirely the wrong thing to do.

Because, then, Quinn is kissing her.

Quinn is _actually_ _kissing her_ , and all Rachel can do is sit there, frozen in shock and _what on earth is happening_? Her eyes are wide as she just stares at closed, perfect eyelashes and flushed, pale skin. Quinn's lips are soft and warm as they move, slowly, tenderly, _hesitantly_.

Rachel can't bring herself to _do_ anything.

Until she just does.

"Quinn," she whimpers, closing her eyes in panic as she lifts her hands to Quinn's shoulders and shoves the blonde girl away.

Quinn's back hits the end of the couch, her facial expression a mixture of surprise and confusion.

Three things flash through Rachel's mind in that moment, her eyes trained on Quinn's heaving chest. Her own heart is thumping wildly in her chest, and she just knows it's five seconds away from _breaking_.

Firstly, Quinn is her _best friend_.

Secondly, Quinn is _not_ gay.

And, thirdly, Rachel has a _boyfriend_.

"Quinn," she tries again, her voice strangled. "What - you're not - I have - _we're_ _best friends_."

It's perhaps, maybe, the wrong thing - is there really a right thing in this situation? - to say in this moment because Quinn absolutely just… shatters.

Right before her eyes.

The surprise and confusion give way to complete and utter devastation that she's too slow to cover up. It explodes behind her eyes, and Rachel actually flinches. The mask takes too long to slip on, and Rachel _sees_ it. She sees it, and she just knows it's a look that's going to _haunt_ her for the rest of her life.

"I thought - " Quinn starts to say, and stops. "You said - " For a moment, all words fail her, and then the abject horror and sheer mortification of what's happening sink in. "Oh, God," she cries, a hand covering her mouth as tears pool in her eyes.

"Quinn," Rachel rushes, needing to say… _something_. "I - " and that's about all she gets out because the mask is now fully in place and Quinn Fabray, her lovely adoring best friend who waits up for her every night without fail, is _gone_.

Quinn just shakes her head, freezing time, as she rises to her feet.

Rachel knows she has to say something.

She _has_ to.

She has to reach out and stop her.

She has to _do_ something before this is irreparable.

There's no coming back from this if Rachel doesn't do something _now_.

But she can't bring herself to move, and all she does is watch Quinn leave the room. There's no elegance in her usually-graceful footsteps. It's as if she's trying not to rush, when all she wants is to flee.

Soon enough, Quinn is out of sight, and Rachel is left staring at nothing, just knowing she's not only broken Quinn's heart, but her own as well.

* * *

**ii. my body is aching tonight. your heart is breaking inside.**

 

Rachel _feels_ it when she wakes the next morning. She suffered through a painful, restless sleep, her nightmares fuelled by that pained look in Quinn's eyes. She's seen Quinn go through many, many things, but that look is something new, and Rachel hates herself for putting it there.

But she also hates Quinn a little bit, too.

None of this would be happening if Quinn hadn't kissed her.

Quinn _kissed_ her.

What was the blonde thinking?

Where does she get off thinking she can just go around just _kissing_ people?

In a distant part of her mind, Rachel is forced to acknowledge that Quinn _did_ ask the silent question. It was just a moment, and Rachel remembers the question but not her answer.

So, Rachel wakes the next morning and feels it so acutely that she can barely breathe. When she lumbers out of bed, irritable and aching, she goes straight to Quinn's bedroom. It's part of their morning routine. Whoever wakes first goes to make sure the other is up - which, these days, is usually Quinn. It's just one of many things they do for each other on a daily basis.

Rachel comes to a stop in front of Quinn's bedroom door and, before she can even think to lift her hand and knock - she usually just bursts inside - her stance falters. She can't just go in there. Not after what happened the previous night, and definitely not dressed like -

Rachel looks down at herself, visibly grimacing at the sight before her. She takes an involuntary step back, jerking slightly.

This is all so wrong.

Everything is just wrong.

"You just missed her," a voice says, and Rachel's head snaps to the side to see Santana standing in front of the closed door of the bedroom she shares with Brittany. "Q left about ten minutes ago."

Rachel blinks; whether in surprise or in confusion, neither brunette knows. "Oh."

"Said something about a paper or a meeting or something," Santana explains with a casual wave of her hand and a large yawn. "Fuck if I was listening."

Rachel just about manages a smile, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

Despite the early hour, Santana catches onto her melancholy, and her brow furrows. "You okay?"

Rachel finds herself nodding. "Of course," she lies. "Just a little tired. I didn't sleep well."

Santana glances over her shoulder at the clock on the wall in their living room. "Well, by my stellar calculations, you still have several _hours_ before you have to be at the theatre. Sort your face out, Berry. You look like shit."

Rachel _feels_ like shit, which is just made worse by the truth that Quinn is _avoiding_ her. It's not as if she blames the blonde for _that_ , but it still hurts. They obviously need to talk about this, and she's determined to do it as soon as possible.

 

Rachel just doesn't anticipate Quinn being _so good_ at this whole avoidance thing. They _live_ together, for goodness' sake. It shouldn't be that _hard_ to get her alone long enough to _talk_.

Because they have to.

They really, really need to.

Rachel is a complete and utter mess without Quinn. As soon as the blonde removes herself from Rachel's everyday life, the brunette is forced to acknowledge just how interlinked the two of them actually are. Without Quinn blowing up her phone - because _Quinn_ is the one who always sends the first text, which is usually a reminder to eat breakfast - Rachel finds her fingers twitching. Without Quinn waiting up for her with vegan ice cream or a cup of tea, Rachel comes home to a quiet apartment.

And, it isn't as if Rachel hasn't _tried_.

Between warring with herself over whether to push for communication or allow the avoidance - there's a small part of her that finds comfort in _not_ dealing with the fact her best friend kissed her - Rachel constantly knocks on Quinn's door and sends her endless messages.

Quinn, predictably, doesn't respond to texts or answer the phone. She also doesn't open her bedroom door, even when Rachel is _sure_ she's inside. The mere fact that Rachel wants to keep their 'situation' quiet is the only reason she doesn't break down the door in a diva tantrum.

They're _broken_ , and Rachel doesn't know how to fix them.

 

The days pass slowly, and Rachel is sufficiently distracted by her shows and her boyfriend. She _tries_ to give him her full attention during their Valentine's Day dinner - which is really three days after the actual day, because of scheduling conflicts - but it's obvious that Jesse St James notices she's not fully present. She's not acting like herself, and she _hates_ that she can't pretend enough for him _not_ to notice.

She's supposed to be a better actress than this.

"Something on your mind?" Jesse asks, sitting across from her in a rather fancy restaurant, with a curious expression on his face. The last few days have been… strange between them. He doesn't put _too much_ stock into it, but the two of them haven't had sex in ten days, and that's… odd for them. He _knows_ their relationship isn't only physical, but it's the kind of intimacy they're the _best_ at.

It's the only time she surrenders to him.

Breathing a sigh, Rachel sips at her wine, contemplating what she _can_ say. It isn't as if she can just _tell_ him Quinn kissed her. She can still hardly believe it herself, and she's not about to voice it aloud to her _boyfriend_.

Rachel and Jesse are in the midst of trying an actual relationship again, and there's a sense of 'destiny' attached to their relationship. An almost… inevitability. They're 'almost high school sweethearts,' and she's holding onto that notion very firmly.

She can look across the table at him and see her future.

It's a future she _wants_.

It's a future she's _always_ wanted.

Jesse is good for her.

He's good _to_ her.

He's grown from his… younger self, and it seems that Rachel is constantly being kissed by reformed tormentors.

All she needs is for Santana and Dave Karofsky to get in line, and she'll have an entire set.

"Rachel?" Jesse prompts, shooting her a look that's a mixture of concern and annoyance. "You're not here with me, are you?"

Rachel has the decency to look guilty. "Sorry," she says, and she means it. "I just - " she stops, unsure what she's supposed to say. "It's just, well, Quinn and I had a fight."

Jesse frowns. "You're… sulking because of _Fabray_?"

Rachel scowls at him.

She _knows_ Jesse doesn't really _like_ her friendship with Quinn, and Quinn doesn't like _him_ \- though, that makes a lot more sense now, she supposes - but she hates it when he says Quinn's name with that tone of voice. Quinn is her best friend. She's the most important person in her life, and he would do well to remember that.

"We had a fight, Jesse," she says tensely.

"But you two fight all the time," he counters, still annoyed.

"This time is different," she says, and that's the understatement of the century. "It was a big one. She hasn't spoken to me in a week, and I don't know what to do."

Jesse sighs in exasperation. "This is absolutely the _last_ thing I want to be talking about," he says petulantly, and then rolls his eyes. "But you obviously need to, so have at it. Talk to Dr St James, and maybe we can diagnose this non-problem and then get back to what is supposed to be a very lovely, romantic date in Manhattan."

Rachel should feel guilty, but she's more irritated at his assumption that she _should_ be feeling it. "If you're going to be like that about it, I'm just going to go home," she says, huffing. "I'm not asking you to do me any favours."

He sighs again, mumbles something under his breath, and then leans forward. "I'm sorry," he says, slightly contrite. "You're right. Seriously. You know you can talk to me."

Rachel doesn't actually _know_ that. The person she usually talks to about these things is Quinn, and she doesn't really know how to open up to other people the same way she does with her blonde best friend.

That says _something_ , she's sure, but she's not going to study that too closely. There's already more than enough through which to work.

"It was a _big_ fight, Jesse," she says again.

He runs a hand through his hair. "Okay," he says. "I mean, you two _do_ fight a lot. Don't throw something at me. I'm just saying that the two of you have already been through so much already, right? Some truly difficult stuff."

Rachel appreciates that he doesn't actually mention the bullying or the boyfriend stealing or Shelby or Beth or the cheating or the non-wedding or the wheelchair or _Finn_ -

They've definitely been through a lot.

Jesse nods his head slowly. "So, I think it remains within reason that whatever you're 'fighting' about right now might not even be that big," he offers. "If you've managed to work through all of _that_ , then you should be able to work through whatever this is. You just have to find a way to talk to her."

Rachel chuckles drily. "She's a ghost, J," she says. "I've literally spent hours camped out in front of her bedroom door."

He smiles at her, shaking his head at her stubbornness. "Look, I know I haven't exactly warmed up to the 'Pregnant Cheerleader,' but I know how important she is to you, okay? She's your best friend, and it pains me to accept it, but I doubt that's ever going to change. You've both worked hard to get to this point, and I'm sure she's as unwilling to let it go as you are."

Rachel just nods, equal parts grateful and guilty. He's being so kind, and she's not even telling him the entire truth. She _knows_ he would freak out if she were to tell him the real reason she and Quinn aren't talking is because said blonde decided to _kiss_ her.

 _She's_ still freaking out.

"Thank you," Rachel says, smiling softly at him.

"Of course," he says, before he gestures at her wine glass. "Top up?"

 

It's expected that she spend the night with Jesse, so she does. They go to his place, and she just about manages to forget her own turmoil and guilt.

She's with Jesse.

She loves Jesse, and he loves her.

It's as simple as that.

Nothing more, and nothing less.

 

Rachel can't quite figure out what she's feeling in the morning, but she knows she needs to escape Jesse's bed before he wakes up and _sees_ the conflict in her eyes. It's not really anything to do with him, and she's unsure how she would explain that to him and actually have him believe her.

So, it's a rather dishevelled Rachel Berry who makes her way home, her mind spinning and her stomach churning. She knows she has to talk to Quinn. She _has_ to, in order for these whirling emotions inside her to settle.

They feel as if they're gnawing at her insides, and it's deeply unpleasant.

Rachel isn't sure what she expects to find when she steps through the front door, but she's hit by the strong smell of freshly-brewed coffee and the sound of soft laughter coming from the kitchen.

Going to investigate, Rachel almost forgets that there are _four_ people who live in this apartment, and her entire body freezes when she sees Quinn sitting at the kitchen table. She's dressed in grey sweatpants, a Yale sweatshirt and thick socks. Her hair is in a messy ponytail and she's wearing her glasses. She has one knee bent with her foot on her chair, and her fingers are curled around a cup of coffee as she holds it to her lips.

She looks so painfully beautiful that it actually hurts to look at her.

"Rach!" Brittany suddenly says, getting Rachel's attention. "You're home." She makes her way towards Rachel and hugs her tightly.

Santana, who's standing at the stove frying _something_ , chuckles at the display. "What's up, Berry?" she says. "You just getting in?"

Rachel can't bring herself to respond, because it's rather obvious what she's been up to just from her appearance, and Quinn is _sitting right there_.

"Wanky," Santana comments.

Rachel risks a look at the seated blonde, and Quinn is staring blankly into her cup. Rachel's own heart twists at the sight, and she just wants to make it better.

"Tell us all about your date," Brittany says, taking hold of her hand and dragging her further into the kitchen.

"I'd rather not," Rachel hurries to say. "I think I'm just going to grab a shower and then - "

"No, no," Santana interrupts. "You're with us today, Berry. We're calling dibs."

Rachel looks at her questioningly. "Why? What's going on?"

"We want to do something all together because Q is sad," Brittany declares, and Rachel's gaze snaps towards Quinn, who is determinedly not looking at any of them. "But she keeps saying she's fine."

"We're thinking the breakup is hitting her harder than she's letting on," Santana says.

"I'm sitting right here," Quinn says, and her tone is layered in too many emotions for any one of them to decipher, but there's definitely anger.

"Oh, is that you, Q?" Santana prods. "You've been moping in your room for the past week, I almost forgot what you look like."

Quinn reacts by slamming her cup down on the kitchen table and dragging her chair back to get to her feet. "I _told_ you I'm fine," she says, her tone curt. "Do us all a favour and _listen_." With that, she walks out of the kitchen.

Rachel tries to stop her, reaching out to close her fingers around her thin wrist, but Quinn avoids the contact easily, throwing her a look that Rachel doesn't recognise, but it hurts all the same.

Once they hear Quinn's door slam shut, Santana scoffs. "Oh, yeah, she's _totally_ fine."

Brittany pouts. "She's always so busy. I feel like we never see her."

Rachel just presses her lips together, unsure what to make of this… interaction. It's the first time she's spent any significant minutes in the same room as Quinn since the kiss and, of course, it has to be the morning she's doing her own version of a 'walk of shame.'

Rachel gets that Quinn is hurting, but so is she. They need to talk, so they can work on fixing this. By doing _this_ , they're not getting anywhere, and it's just going to continue to get worse until it's toxic and gangrene and needs amputation.

It's driving Rachel crazy.

"I'm going to catch that shower," she says, and then escapes the kitchen before they can protest. She goes past Quinn's bedroom and stops at the door. She does nothing for a moment, and then she lays her palm against the wood. She holds it there for a long while, saying nothing, and then she goes to her own bedroom.

Rachel intends to save whatever is left of their relationship. Jesse is right about that much, at least; they've been through far too much just to throw in the towel now.

 

It's three days of complete silence and lockout later when Rachel wakes up in tears for reasons other than the fact that her best friend hasn't said any actual words to her in ten days.

 _Ten long days_.

But it's today, the five-year anniversary of Quinn's car accident, that Rachel can't stand it anymore. She's exhausted because she hasn't had any sleep and she hasn't eaten anything in _hours_ \- or days, she's not really sure - and all she wants is to see Quinn.

She _needs_ to see Quinn.

She practically falls out of bed, stumbling over her blankets as she makes her way towards Quinn's bedroom. She doesn't know or care what time it is. All she knows is she needs to see the _life_ in Quinn's eyes to chase away the lifeless image she just witnessed in her nightmares.

Rachel comes to a stop at Quinn's door, already just _knowing_ it's locked. Everything about the blonde has been shut away, and it hurts. It physically _hurts_ , and Rachel needs her. She needs her to open the door and just make everything better.

"Quinn," she calls out, her voice _already_ catching. She rests her palm against the wood, this stupid _physical_ barrier between them. "Please," she whispers. "Please just open the door. I know you're hurting, and I'm sorry, okay? I - I didn't react well, and I shouldn't have shoved you away like that, but we need to talk about this." She squeezes her eyes tightly shut. "You just surprised me, and - " she stops, sighing. "Look, I'm hurting too, Quinn. Hiding from this isn't going to help with anything, and I know you're smart enough to know that.

"Quinn, please," she says. "Just open the door. Please let me see you. I - I just want to see you." The tears in her eyes are blurring her vision. "I miss you, okay? I miss you, and I can just feel myself losing you, and you won't even talk to me, and I just want to know why. What happened? I just want to be able to understand, and then we can find a way to make this better. I'm going to need you to meet me halfway, Quinn. I can't do it alone, and we've been through far too much for this to be it. We have to work together to get past this, so I need you to open this door. Please."

Her pleas are met with silence, and it - it _angers_ her.

"Quinn, you're supposed to be my best friend," she says, her voice breaking. "You're supposed to be there for everything. Even this. _Especially_ this. You - you're better than this. You're supposed to have changed." Rachel closes her eyes, hating herself for her next words. "You owe me, Quinn. You owe me for all the slushies and the drawings and the insults, okay? You owe me, so you have to open the door. Open the door, Quinn. Just open the fucking door!"

She drops her head down to lean her forehead against the wood, her breathing rapid and her tears flowing. "That's how desperate I am to talk to you; to _see_ you. I don't want to play that card, but you're giving me no choice, and you owe me! Jesus, Quinn, can you just be the grownup you're trying to be and open the fucking door? God, I am so fucking mad at you right now!"

Silence.

There's just silence.

Rachel's anger reaches a boiling point, flaming white and hot. She hasn't slept and her emotions are all over the place and all she wants to do is break through this stupid, fucking door to get to Quinn to make sure she's _alive_ , and that all leads to her slamming her fist hard against said door.

Once.

Twice

The skin is off her knuckles, and the sounds of her fist and her whimpers echo in the passageway.

Three times.

Four.

"Fuck!" she yells, finally pulling back against the pain in her hand. She cradles it against her chest as she pants. "What is happening?" she asks the empty space around her. "What am I doing?" She's sobbing now, her hand and her heart hurting enough to cause her entire body to shake. "What the hell am I doing?"

Rachel hears something behind the door; it's so soft, and she can't tell what it is.

"I'm sorry," Rachel chokes out. "Quinn, I'm so sorry," she says. "I just punched your door." She stares at her own hand in wonder, the red of her blood making her feel slightly woozy. "I - I can't - I can't believe I just brought up the slushies. I'm sorry. God, I don't think - I wouldn't - _I'm sorry_."

There's a moment when Rachel _knows_ she has to run, and she stumbles backwards, jerking away from the door as if it's reached out and scorched her. "I have to - I'm - "

She has to get away.

Her back hits the wall behind her, and it's as far as she gets as she crumples to the floor in a mess of blood and tears. The last thing she hears is the sound of a door, a gasp and her breathless name.


	2. iii, iv, v

**iii.** **i lost my mind, when i made you cry a hundred times.**

 

"You're a fucking idiot."

Rachel flinches at the tone of Santana's voice, but she can't bring herself to respond.

"I mean, what were you even thinking, Berry?" she asks, staring down at where Rachel is curled up on a hospital bed, awaiting treatment after her X-Ray. "You could have seriously hurt yourself, you know?"

Rachel _does_ know, yes.

Santana sighs as she drops down into a chair beside the bed. "I get that today is difficult for you," she says, her tone soft; "but being in a hospital is literally the _last_ thing any of us needs right now."

Rachel feels tears pool in her eyes. "Is Quinn still here?" she whispers.

Santana shakes her head. "I sent her home with Puck. She - she was trembling, and I think she was suffering some kind of phantom pain or something like that."

Rachel closes her eyes, her heart aching. It doesn't feel as if it's ever going to stop.

"Do you want to tell me what's going on in that twisted little head of yours?"

Rachel audibly swallows, considering her options. She supposes a semblance of the truth _isn't_ wildly inaccurate. "Sometimes, I have nightmares where she doesn't survive the accident," she confesses softly. She's already spoken to her therapist about all of this before, but it might be different bringing it up to Santana, who probably understands better than anyone what it's like to face the possibility of almost losing Quinn forever. "When they happen, it's easy for me to walk down the hall and just _see_ her, you know? But - "

"But her door was locked," Santana finishes. "And you decided to use your tiny, insignificant fists to break it down."

"I - I wasn't really thinking," she explains. "I just knew I had to see her; I _had_ to lay eyes on her to know for sure, and I - "

Santana smiles in sympathy. "She's fine," she says. "I promise she's fine. _I_ saw her with my own two eyes. She's a little shaken, but she's whole. I think you just scared her."

"I think I scared myself."

Santana leans forward and rests a hand on Rachel's knee. "I called the theatre. You're booked off for four days."

Normally, Rachel would throw a fit, but she's too exhausted to fight right now. She just wants to sleep and maybe eat some soup. She also just wants to be held.

But she really doesn't think she can handle seeing anybody right now.

Especially not Quinn.

 

It's hours later, after she's _finally_ managed to get some sleep that Rachel acknowledges that this day even happened. Santana made sure everyone stayed away from her when she got back from the hospital, and she's been locked in her bedroom ever since. She can hear people talking amongst themselves in the living room, but not what they're saying, and that's okay.

Rachel just stays lying in bed, her eyes trained on the ceiling, as she tries to ignore the throbbing in her hand. It's not broken, thank goodness, but she's thankful for the four days off she has to try to recover from whatever's been going on.

Who knew that Quinn's kissing her would cause such disarray?

At some point, Rachel hears footsteps approach her door and then come to a stop. She waits for the knock, but there's nothing, and she knows exactly who's behind the door. Her heart leaps at merely the _thought_ of Quinn, and she has to force herself not to jump up and run to her.

"I thought I told you she wanted to be left alone," Santana says, and Rachel can hear the Latina's own exhaustion through the door.

"I know," Quinn says, and she sounds just as broken as Rachel imagines she looks. "I just - I wanted to be near her."

Santana is silent for a moment. "You know, when she was telling me what happened, I found it a little difficult to relate, but I think I get it now. There's a part of me that wants to break down this door and _see_ her."

"Yeah," Quinn breathes, and there's a world of emotions in just that one word. "Do you think she hates me?"

"For what?"

"Not answering the door."

"Berry could never hate you, Q," Santana says. "She loves you too much for that, and you know she's going to forgive you in an instant."

"Do I deserve that?"

"You deserve all the good, Q."

"But I'm not a good person," Quinn instantly counters, and Rachel's breath catches at the reminder of that night this mess all started.

"Who says that?" Santana questions. "Tell me. I'll beat them up."

Quinn laughs softly, and Rachel practically melts at the sound. "Thank you, San."

"For what?"

"I don't know," she says. "Just, thank you."

 

Rachel doesn't emerge from her bedroom until late the next morning. She's ignored texts from cast mates and her agent and Jesse in favour of attempting to wrap her head around just what happened to her outside Quinn's bedroom door.

Which, she sees, has been cleaned of her blood.

Rachel barely gets to the third knock before the door is thrown open and she comes face to face with none other than the startlingly beautiful Quinn Fabray. They just stare at each other for a long moment, and then Rachel is being engulfed in Quinn's strong arms. Quinn squeezes her tightly enough to force a squeak out of her, and it takes her a moment to catch up and hug her friend back.

"You're okay," Quinn murmurs, her breath warm against Rachel's skin. "You're okay."

"I'm okay," Rachel says, only slightly amused by this emotional display. "I promise I'm okay."

Quinn's left hand rubs at her back for a moment, and her right cradles the back of Rachel's head. The position is intimate and, the second Quinn realises it, she pulls back, her cheeks flushing. "You're okay," she says again, her hands on Rachel's shoulders as if she's inspecting her for any other bumps and bruises.

"I'm okay," Rachel confirms once again.

Quinn drops her hands and straightens her spine. "You scared me, Rach."

"I know," she says. "I scared myself."

"Was - was that me?" she asks, and she looks guilty. "I was embarrassed, and I just - I needed some - "

"Quinn," she gently interrupts. "It wasn't, okay? It wasn't you, and I'm okay."

"Yeah?"

Rachel nods.

Quinn bites her bottom lip, and then she nods once, accepting Rachel's words. "Want me to make you some soup?"

* * *

**iv.** **things get crazy when they all get out of focus.**

 

It's almost amazing the way everything just goes back to normal the very next day.

In the morning, Quinn comes to her bedroom to make sure she's awake, bringing in breakfast of fruit (for Rachel) and yoghurt (for her) that they both eat while Quinn sits on the edge of Rachel's bed.

While Rachel gets to enjoy her day off and laze about, Quinn has to go to campus.

"Do you need anything before I leave?" Quinn asks, and there's so much care in her voice that Rachel almost squirms under the intensity of her gaze.

"I think I'm okay, thank you," she manages to say, and then does her best not to squeak when Quinn squeezes her uninjured hand.

"I'll see you later," Quinn says, and then leans forward to press the gentlest of kisses to Rachel's forehead. It's _not_ the first time it's ever happened, but Rachel wonders if it means anything different now that she's aware that her blonde friend is even slightly physically attracted to her.

They still have a lot to talk about.

 

Which is what happens the night Rachel Berry makes her return to the stage after she suffered her hand injury. Her publicist was forced to release a statement and, really, the hand doesn't actually detract from her performance. The props aren't wildly uncomfortable to use, and it's her voice people come to the theatre for, anyway.

When Rachel gets home, Quinn is waiting for her on the couch, her focus on the novel in her hands. She's wrapped in a light blanket and wearing her glasses, and Rachel thinks she looks positively adorable. Especially when her brow furrows with concentration.

"Hey," Quinn says when she hears Rachel come in. "How was the show?" she asks, setting down her book and rising to her feet.

Rachel removes her coat, scarf and gloves, and then follows Quinn into the kitchen. "It went well," Rachel tells her truthfully. "It felt good to be back."

"I can imagine," she says. Then: "Tea?"

"Please."

All Quinn has to do is boil the water because Rachel notices she's already set out a tray for them, and it warms her heart. She's pretty lucky, isn't she?

"How was your day?" Rachel asks, sneaking up behind Quinn to grab one of the vegan cookies laid out on a plate on the tray. She must move too quietly because Quinn doesn't hear her coming and, when she turns around, she startles and ends up elbowing Rachel in the ribs.

"Shit," Quinn says. "I'm sorry. I didn't even see you." Then: "What are you doing here, anyway?"

Rachel wheezes, clutching at her (probably) bruised bones. "I don't think that's important right now," she says, breathless. "I'm dying here."

Quinn rolls her eyes, and then uses her own hand to massage the area she decimated. It's perfectly fine for exactly two-point-seven seconds, but then the touch turns… intimate, and Quinn rips her hand away. "Sorry," she says, taking a small step back. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"I'm not."

Quinn shakes her head. "Still."

Rachel can only watch helplessly as Quinn pours the boiling water for them, and then carries the tray into the living room. She sets it down on the coffee table beside her abandoned book and then resumes her seat. Rachel lets her own awkwardness stall her for a few seconds, and then she sits beside Quinn.

Things _are_ normal, but they're also not.

Quinn's touches _mean_ something now, and they're both always wary of what constitutes 'too much.' But Rachel doesn't want her to _stop_ touching her. What kind of life would that be? Quinn gives the best hugs, and her lips are so soft when she gives forehead kisses.

Quinn sips at her tea for a few minutes, before she sets down the cup and reaches out for Rachel's injured hand. "Do you want me to change the bandage again?" she asks softly, and the reverence in her tone makes Rachel say yes without fully registering what 'change the bandage' fully entails.

It fucking hurts.

But Quinn is so gentle, her fingers cool against Rachel's heated skin. Quinn pays such close attention to making sure she doesn't hurt Rachel, and the brunette fills with a certain warmth that's always been reserved for Quinn and only Quinn.

When she's done, Quinn puts away the first aid kit, and then returns to survey her handiwork. When she's satisfied, she doesn't let go of Rachel's hand; rather just cradles it in her lap and taps the ends of her fingers on occasion.

It's distracting.

"Did you tell your dads about this?" Quinn asks, her voice soft.

Rachel nods. "They were bound to hear about it," she says. "I kind of had to."

"Did you tell them _why_?"

"If you're asking if I told them I hurt my hand by punching a door repeatedly, then no," she says. "I don't know how to explain that. To them, or to myself."

"Were you imagining my face?"

"No!"

Quinn flinches.

"Sorry," Rachel says, more calmly. "But, no, Quinn," she says. "I just - I just wanted to see you. I _needed_ to see you. I don't know how to _be_ without my best friend, and I don't ever want us to be like _that_ again."

"Neither do I," Quinn agrees.

They fall silent, both of them lost in thought.

At some point, Rachel starts to laugh, and Quinn looks at her like she's suddenly grown a second head. Before Quinn can question her, Rachel says, "I'm just remembering when Brittany asked me if I was planning on having any baby 'Berries,' and Santana made sure to let me know one of me is more than enough."

Quinn huffs, pouting slightly. "Well, she's wrong," she says, and she looks frighteningly charming. There's something just so endearing about her in this moment, and Rachel feels slightly breathless. "I, for one, think the world would benefit from more of you." She hesitates. "Not that I think you should start reproducing any time soon, you know? You're only twenty-three, and that doesn't exactly fit into your plans and, speaking as someone who's gone through an unplanned pregnancy, it's really not that fun."

Rachel just stares at her, thoroughly amused. Her chagrin is entirely too adorable, and Rachel almost has to sit on her hands to stop herself from reaching across and pinching her flushed cheeks.

Quinn eyes her curiously. "What are you smiling at?" she asks, still rather put out. "Nothing about this is funny."

Rachel giggles. "You're right," she agrees.

"Then, why are you smiling?"

This time, Rachel's the one who blushes, and then she says, "you're just really cute when you pout like that."

Quinn blinks in surprise. "Oh." Then she smiles. "Thank you… I guess?"

Rachel just blushes harder. "Sure," she mumbles, and then reaches for her tea to give her something to do.

Quinn lets out a breathy chuckle, and then pats Rachel's leg, gently rubbing a slow circle, before pulling back and sighing. "You know, you can't say things like that to me," she says.

Rachel freezes, her gaze slowly drifting towards Quinn. "We should probably talk about that, shouldn't we?"

Quinn shifts slightly, angling her body to face Rachel while they sit on the couch. "We should, yes."

Rachel sets down her cup and shifts to face her as well. "I - " she starts, and then stops. "I don't even know where to start."

"Neither do I," Quinn admits, gnawing at her bottom lip. "Maybe - maybe you could just ask me something, and I could answer, and we can just go from there."

Rachel just nods once, and then says nothing. She has so many questions, but she thinks most of them are stupid.

"Just ask, Rach," Quinn says. "Just ask. It's okay."

"Why?"

Quinn frowns.

" _Why_?"

Quinn breathes out slowly. "I suppose the simple answer is that I really wanted to," she says, slowly and purposefully. "I've wanted to for a while, and I thought - I thought you wanted to as well, but I was clearly wrong about that." She drops her gaze. "I won't try again, in case you're worried about that."

"I'm not."

Quinn's shoulders seem to sag in relief.

"That's the simple answer," Rachel recalls; "what's the not-so-simple answer?"

Quinn looks reluctant for a moment, but then she tilts her head back to look at the ceiling, and she seems to draw some strength from it. She releases a sigh, and then she speaks words she was convinced she would never say out loud. "Because you're amazing," she answers on an exhale. "I mean, you can be a giant pain in the ass, but you're just so amazing, Rachel. You have this inherent kindness that's ingrained into the very fabric of your being, and it translates into everything you do. You're so thoughtful, and you remember all the little things about the most random people. I mean, you even remember Trevor, the coffee guy's birthday." She chuckles to herself, and her eyes are shining when she looks at Rachel.

"It's the same day as Barbra," Rachel weakly defends.

Quinn just smiles. "It's because you see _the person_. You don't care about social standing or orientation or skin colour or even religion. You just see the person, and you care with all your being. God, it's infuriating sometimes. Do I even have to remind you about those _Cats_ tickets?"

Rachel scowls at her, and Quinn just laughs.

"It's because, God, you have the most wonderful smile," she continues. "It's just this beaming thing that spreads warmth right through my entire body. And your laugh is so infectious; I could listen to it on a loop for the rest of my life. It's because you're so unafraid to just be you, whether you look stupid or not. You just go for it, willing to make mistakes, so long as you know you're attempting to do what's right.

"It's because you stop, every day, to speak to Homeless Jerry on Broadway, just to brighten up his day. Because you remember that I don't like olives in my salad or pickles on my burger. Because you take care of people. You take care of _me_.

"Because, somehow, after every horrible thing I've ever done to you in the past, you've managed to forgive me, which says so much about the purity of your heart. You give so freely, and expect so little in return. You truly are amazing, Rachel, and I just need you to know."

Rachel just stares at her, embarrassed and chuffed. Her heart is swollen, and she thinks she might cry. Of all the things she was expecting Quinn to say, that's far more than she ever anticipated. "Wow," she says. "Is that it?"

Quinn laughs easily. "If you're looking to hear all the reasons why I'm in love with you, Rach, I promise I can go on all night."

Rachel starts to smile, and then freezes, her stomach dropping like a dead weight.

Wait.

What?

Quinn tenses a beat later, her own words replaying in her head.

"What did you say?" Rachel asks.

Quinn shakes her head. "Rachel," she says, and it sounds strangled. " _Please_."

Rachel has no idea what to say.

Quinn is in love with her.

 _Quinn_ is _in_ love with her.

That is definitely not what she was expecting to hear today.

Quinn can't stand the silence. "I'm sorry," she says. "I swear, I didn't mean for this to happen. You're my best friend, and I'm sure this is the last thing you want to be dealing with right now. I'm sorry I'm making - "

"Quinn," Rachel interrupts. "It's okay. Please don't apologise for this."

"But - "

"No," Rachel says firmly, needing Quinn to hear her. "We _never_ apologise for love, okay?"

Quinn just stares at her.

"You've done nothing wrong," Rachel says. "It's okay. I promise it's okay. Please don't cry."

Quinn seems confused by that, and she moves to touch her cheeks, surprised to find them wet. She blinks a few times, and then looks at Rachel, whose facial expression is soft and open and understanding.

"Come here," Rachel says, opening her arms and inviting Quinn into her embrace.

Quinn goes willingly, and she allows herself to accept the comfort. They just hug for the longest time, neither one finding the need to say anything more. They've reached some sort of impasse. Nothing's really been decided, but the words aren't really necessary anymore.

Eventually, they shift until Quinn is lying on the couch with her head in Rachel's lap. The brunette doesn't even hesitate to begin threading her fingers through Quinn's blonde hair, quietly marvelling at how soft it is. The silence drags on for long minutes, until Quinn decides to break it.

"You're going to make it really difficult for me to get over you if you keep being so fucking nice to me," Quinn murmurs wetly.

"Are you asking me to change?"

"No," Quinn answers quickly. "Never ever change, Rachel. You would be doing the entire world a disservice."

 _Wow_.

Quinn sniffles, and then shifts, nuzzling Rachel's leg slightly, before settling down again. She sighs. "Everything is going to be okay, right?"

"Of course," Rachel says, the movement of her fingers slowing slightly. "I made you a promise, didn't I?"

* * *

**v. everything you give, i want, but i also take too much.**

 

It takes them a while, but they're both able to shift into something resembling a 'new normal.' To everyone else, nothing much has changed, but Rachel feels it. Now that everything is out in the open - Quinn is in love with her - the blonde is a lot more… open.

She _openly_ stares.

She _openly_ touches.

And she _openly_ smiles.

More often than not, Rachel finds herself a little breathless. It isn't even that Quinn is doing anything different or untoward. It's just that she's so much more unguarded, and Rachel wonders how she managed to miss all the signs of restraint in Quinn.

This Quinn is everything she ever imagined Quinn _could_ be.

This Quinn laughs freely, and smiles this new smile that's small and gentle, and puts this delicate kind of light in her eyes that sparkles at just the right angle.

This Quinn is warm and giving of time and space and comfort and affection. She's just _comfortable_ , and there's no reason for her to hide or pretend anymore and, yes, Rachel finds it all a little overwhelming.

But she also _really_ likes it.

More than she would care to admit.

Which is a feeling that leaves her feeling a little embarrassed, guilty and, yes, breathless. She's never really been shy or speechless but, sometimes, Quinn will look at her as if the entire world doesn't exist but for her, and her heart will beat a little faster and words will fail her.

Rachel tries really hard not to think about the day when Quinn eventually moves on from her, because the mere thought of losing her (love) kind of hurts.

More than she would care to admit.

Because that would be selfish, and she's entirely too aware of that.

 

The weeks pass by slowly, but quickly at the same time. Rachel can't quite explain it. During the actual day, it's as if time has slowed, and she just basks in, well, _Quinn_ , and, before she knows it, the week is up.

Before Rachel knew the truth, and so knew what to look for, she never quite noticed all the small things.

The way Quinn loves so selflessly.

Rachel almost kicks herself whenever she notices yet another way Quinn has been _there_ all along.

Quinn loves her enough to care that she's eating enough and staying hydrated during the day. Quinn loves her enough not to push at her own feelings when she knows Rachel doesn't return them. Quinn loves her enough to accept quietly and without anger when Rachel has to spend time with Jesse, and Quinn loves her enough to lock herself away when it becomes all too much, so Rachel doesn't have to see how much it _hurts_.

Rachel recognises all of these things, and her own selfishness makes her feel guilty and awful, and she knows that someone is _always_ going to be hurting in this situation.

It's just not fair.

Rachel thinks about it sometimes. The idea that she _could_ love Quinn back. It's not wildly unfathomable. It's nothing to do with the fact Quinn is a girl. Rachel has liked girls before.

She's even liked _Quinn_ before.

If she thinks about it objectively. If she tries to eliminate what it would mean to Jesse, or to Quinn, or even to her career, she could possibly see herself able to love Quinn in all the ways the blonde deserves.

But Rachel won't even entertain that idea unless she's sure, because that _definitely_ won't be fair to any of them, and Rachel's determined to keep the hurt to a minimum.

Even though there's a part of her that knows she's already failing at that.

 

It all starts to unravel at a cast party at a club in SoHo that everyone ends up going to. Quinn, Santana, Brittany, Kurt, Blaine, Noah… and Jesse. Rachel's been very careful not to spend time with either Quinn or Jesse in the same place. She doesn't want to hurt Quinn any more than she already has, and she still harbours a healthy amount of guilt when it comes to Jesse.

So, of course, a club full of people and an endless supply of booze is going to be a combination for complete and utter disaster.

It starts when Santana buys a round of shots for all of them (reluctantly including Jesse), and then declares that it's time to get Quinn laid. The blonde chokes on her drink, and Brittany has to rub her back until she recovers.

"We're not doing that," Quinn says, shaking her head and avoiding looking at Rachel. "Definitely not."

"Well, why not?" Santana presses, almost whining. "It's been, what, seven weeks since you and Scott broke up, right? Don't you think it's time you had a little fun?"

Quinn clenches her jaw. "I said no, Santana."

For a moment, Santana looks like she wants to argue some more, but Brittany's hand on her arm stops her. "Q isn't ready yet," she murmurs to her girlfriend, but they all hear her, even over the sound of the house band.

Quinn just flushes in embarrassment, downs her drink, and then heads to the bar without another word.

Rachel follows a beat later, her need to make sure her best friend is okay overpowering the warning bells that her presence may or may not be welcomed. At the bar, she places a gentle hand on Quinn's shoulder, and the blonde turns to look at her, a fire burning in her eyes that dies the instant she sees the brunette.

"Hey," Quinn says, smiling slightly. "Did you want a drink? I didn't even offer."

"Please? Can I get a strawberry daiquiri?"

Quinn grins at her for a moment, and then orders their drinks - a martini for her.

Rachel's hand slides down until it's resting on the small of Quinn's back. "Are you okay?" she asks sincerely.

Quinn looks confused for a moment, and then shrugs when she recalls the conversation with Santana. "I'm fine," she dismisses. "She's just trying to push my buttons to get a rise out of me."

"It's working."

Quinn chuckles. "It really is, yeah."

"You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," she reassures, and then glances over Rachel's shoulder. "Plus, it's not me you should be worrying about."

Rachel's brow furrows as she looks over her own shoulder to see Jesse eyeing them curiously. She sighs. "I should probably head back."

Quinn offers her a smile, but it doesn't get anywhere near her eyes. A moment later, they get their drinks, and then Rachel heads back alone. She moves to stand at Jesse's side, and he immediately puts his arm around her shoulders, drawing her in. It feels… heavy, but she's trying not to think about that.

She's trying not to think of a lot of things.

Like the fact that Quinn could end up going home with someone in this bar, and there's nothing she can say or do to stop it… without ruining everything.

And she _really_ doesn't want to do that, so she just slides her own arm around Jesse's waist and tries to enjoy the evening. It's going well, given everything, and she's able to lose herself in conversation with Blaine and Noah, right until the moment Jesse gets drunk enough to get handsy.

Rachel has to still his hand when it attempts to slide under her dress, and she shoots him a warning look, to which he just grins. It's cute, and she gives him a gentle kiss to placate him.

But, no.

He is _not_ about to feel her up in public.

Without her permission, Rachel's eyes scan the club for Quinn, and she eventually finds her on the dance floor with Santana, Brittany and Kurt. She feels a tiny smile tug at the sides of her mouth at the sight of her blonde, happy and free and just _being_.

When she remembers that none of it is hers, Rachel sucks in a sharp breath.

What is happening?

She has to still Jesse's hand again, and she gives him a sterner look. "No," she says, and he pouts. It's not as cute on him as it is on Quinn.

Which is a thought that sends her reeling.

She jerks back, and Jesse frowns. "I need to use the bathroom," she says, and then she hurries away.

Of course, Quinn is cute.

She's practically a cat.

Rachel's sure she's even heard her purr before.

In the bathroom, Rachel resists the urge to splash her face with cold water because of her makeup, but she does stare at herself in the mirror for the longest time.

It's okay.

She's just a little drunk.

It's making her think things she really shouldn't be thinking.

Once she deems herself ready, she walks out of the bathroom to find Jesse waiting for her in the dark corridor. His eyes are glassy, and there's something oddly predatory in his gaze. She's both excited by and wary of it.

"Mine," is all he says, and then he's on her.

Rachel welcomes it because, yes, she is his, and she _wants_ that.

She wants _him_.

Her back hits the wall behind her, and he presses himself close. Rachel keeps her eyes closed and tries desperately to lose herself in the feel of him. The kiss is sloppy at best, noisy, and it's definitely not either of their best work, but she -

Someone clears their throat, and Rachel's head whips to the side, her eyes widening at the sight of Santana and Quinn standing there, waiting to get into the bathroom. Rachel feels heat rise up her neck at the sight of the blonde's dark eyes and tightly clenched jaw.

She immediately pushes Jesse away, the back of her hand coming up to wipe at her mouth. She does her best to straighten her dress and fusses with her hair, but the apology in her eyes doesn't make up for it.

Whatever _it_ is.

Jesse gives them a roguish smile. "Hello, ladies," he says with a smirk. "I didn't know you were into voyeurism."

Quinn's lips purse.

"Wanky," Santana says. "Now, if you don't want to be arrested for public indecency, move out of the fucking doorway. I gotta pee." She practically barges past them, but Quinn waits to the side for them to move out of the way.

"Quinn," Rachel whispers.

The blonde just shrugs, reluctantly accepting her reality, and then disappears into the bathroom without looking back.

Rachel has only a moment to feel… whatever she's feeling. What is she feeling? Will there ever be a day she stops hurting Quinn?

Jesse's arm slips around her waist. "Let's get out of here," he says, speaking into her hair.

To hurt the least amount of people, Rachel agrees, and the two of them make their way back to their table to gather their things and say their goodbyes. Noah gives them a particularly salacious look, as if he knows exactly why they're leaving early and, while he's probably not wrong, Rachel knows the idea is going to hurt Quinn.

Everything is hurting Quinn.

Rachel doesn't know how she's supposed to help with any of that when she can barely handle her own feelings about the situation.

When Santana gets back, she's alone and grinning madly. She barely even bats an eye when Rachel says she and Jesse are leaving.

"Where's Quinn?" Rachel asks.

Santana's smile widens. "It looks like you're not the only one getting lucky tonight," she says, and gestures vaguely over her shoulder.

Rachel follows the gesture and, when her eyes settle on Quinn, _something_ happens. Her breath catches and her eyes harden at the sight before her.

Quinn flirting. With a man.

Quinn smiling. At someone else.

Quinn touching. A stranger.

Rachel feels her blood boil and, for a terrifying moment, she wants nothing more than to march over there and demand that they _stop_. So, it's a good thing when Jesse slides his hand into hers and tugs impatiently.

"You can text her later," he says. "She looks busy, and I'm sure she won't appreciate the interruption."

Rachel has a hell of a lot to say to _that_ , but she just nods and lets him lead her away. She has to get out of here before she says or does something she regrets. Her mind and body become traitors whenever Quinn is involved, and she's trying to make sure neither of them becomes a cheater again.

Jesse's hand is big and warm around hers, and she tries not to think about that as they step out onto the sidewalk and he hails a cab. She just stands perfectly still, her mind elsewhere.

Quinn is in there.

Quinn is with somebody else.

Rachel closes her eyes, trying to force the image away. She doesn't have the right to _feel_ anything about this situation. Quinn is a grown woman who's free to do whatever she wants. So what if she claims to love Rachel? So what?

Rachel clenches her jaw, a cynical part of her thinking that her apparent love must mean very little if she can just get into bed with some random stranger.

Then she flushes in horror and embarrassment.

God, what is happening?

Rachel releases Jesse's hand and turns to look at him. "I think I'm just going to go home," she says. "By myself."

Jesse looks at her as if she's told him she now hates Barbra Streisand. "What?" he asks, his tone a combination of confusion and annoyance. "Why?"

"I'm just not feeling up for anything right now," she says. "I'd like to go home."

Jesse forces himself not to bite back with something… untoward. He just sighs, and then opens the cab door for her. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asks. "I can come with you. We can cuddle."

She smiles at him. This is why she loves him. She truly does. "I'm okay, and thank you. I think I just need to be alone for a little while." She reaches up to kiss him softly, and then she gets into the cab and goes home.

Rachel doesn't cry.

She doesn't have the _right_ to cry, so she makes sure she doesn't.

 

It's only minutes after she's arrived home, had a warm shower, slipped into her fuzzy pyjamas and decimated half a bottle of wine that the key in the lock to the apartment engages, and a surprisingly put together Quinn Fabray glides through the door.

She starts in surprise when she sees Rachel sitting on the couch. Alone.

Quinn slips off her heels and sighs. And then frowns. "Hey," she says. "What are you doing here?"

Rachel's a little too tipsy to stop her glare. "Last time I checked, I live here."

Quinn blinks in surprise at the frosty reception. "Right," she says slowly. "Okay then. I'm just going to head to bed. Goodnight."

Rachel watches her go for seven beats of her own heart before she scrambles to her feet and goes after her. She doesn't even know _why_ , just that she _has_ to.

"Quinn?"

The blonde stops a few feet from her bedroom door and turns around to look at Rachel, a curious expression on her face. "Rach?" she questions.

Rachel shakes her head to try to clear it of the warmth she feels at the sound of her nickname from Quinn's lips. "What was that?" she asks.

Quinn frowns. "What was what?"

" _That_ ," she hisses with a flail of her right arm. "With that guy."

Quinn sighs. "It was my _trying_ ," she says, shrugging helplessly. "Which obviously failed, seeing as I'm at home now."

And maybe it's because she's a little bit drunk and a lot jealous, because it's the only way she'll ever say what she says. "Where you're just going to continue to mope?"

Quinn's eyes snap towards her. "Excuse me?"

"Why didn't you just fuck him, Quinn?" she almost shouts. "Get me out of your system so you can stop acting like a kicked puppy because I'm with Jesse?"

Quinn is so shocked, she doesn't quite register the words until a beat later. And then her upper lip curls into a snarl and her eyes harden. She steps forward, right into Rachel's space. "You know what, Rachel, fuck you," she says. " _Fuck you_."

And then she turns and starts towards her bedroom.

And Rachel _should_ let it go. It'd be so much easier to just let it be, but she's drunk and angry and a little bit hurt that Quinn was going to pick up some _guy_ when she's supposed to be in love with _her_. So, the words fly out of her mouth, and there's no way to take them back.

"You're too much of a fucking coward to do that."

Quinn whirls around, her eyes blazing. "What the fuck did you just say?" she snarls.

"You heard me."

Quinn's face twists into something like disgust. "Why would you need me for that?" she says. "That's what Jesse's for, isn't he? Why else would you keep him around?"

"Because I love him."

The words are designed to hurt, and they succeed. Quinn reels back as if she's been slapped, and Rachel feels a momentary flash of regret… that's quickly replaced by indignation when Quinn says her next words.

"No, you don't," she says and she sounds so _sure_ of it. "I can tell when you're lying, and we both know you're just settling."

Rachel's mouth drops open, and she sputters. "No," she says, shaking her head. "You don't get to say that to me. You've had years, Quinn. _Years_. I'm finally with someone who loves me, and my happy ending is within reach, and _now_ you decide you're in love with me?"

Quinn frowns, suddenly feeling winded.

What?

Years for what?

"I won't leave him," Rachel shouts. "I won't leave him for you."

Quinn shakes her head in an attempt to clear it, and then growls. "And I haven't asked you to," she spits out, and then pauses. Why did Rachel even say that?

Rachel's eyes are glassy as she tries to find a way to backtrack. She doesn't even know what she's revealed but she knows it's too much.

Quinn's head tilts to the side. "What if I _did_ ask you?" she asks.

Rachel blinks rapidly. "Quinn, no."

Quinn takes steps forward until she's standing right in front of Rachel. Their bodies are so close together, but they may as well be worlds apart.

"Quinn," Rachel warns.

Quinn's hands grip the front of Rachel's pyjama top, drawing them closer to each other. "What if I asked you?" she repeats.

Rachel closes her eyes tightly to stop her tears. "I won't leave him, Quinn," she says. "I _can't_." She can barely look at her. "You said you didn't see your future when you looked at Scott, but I see mine when I look at Jesse. I _love him_."

It's probably the most painful thing Quinn has ever heard, and the breath leaves her body in an instant. She deflates, but she doesn't release her hold on Rachel. It's funny, she thinks, because she was _convinced_ there was a part of Rachel that might actually truly _love_ her back.

But she's wrong.

She's been wrong before

It's just that it fucking hurts.

"I love you," Quinn says, unable to look at Rachel's face. "I never actually said the words properly, but I want you to know that I love you." She takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. "I'm in love with you, Rachel, and it's something I need you to know."

Rachel says and does nothing, frozen in place.

"I won't say it again, and I won't try to do anything about it when it comes to you. I just - I need you to know. I love you, and I can't foresee a day when I'll ever stop."

Quinn knows there's no way they're coming back from this, so she uses the opportunity to wrap her arms around Rachel's neck and just holds her. One hand cradles her head, threading through dark hair, and she just _breathes_.

The gentleness of the embrace forces a gasp out of Rachel. And then a shudder. Goosebumps erupt on her skin.

Quinn doesn't let go.

Slowly, Rachel hugs her back, tentative hands sliding around a thin waist.

They just hold each other for a sliver of forever, and then Quinn is pulling away. She presses her lips against the softness of Rachel's temple, allowing herself to linger.

Rachel trembles in her arms.

And then she's out of them.

Quinn turns and walks towards her bedroom without looking back, and all Rachel can do is watch her go.

Watch her walk away.

She doesn't cry until Quinn's door clicks shut and the lock engages. The tears come slowly, and her heart is breaking.

It's shattering.

They can't go back.

They can't fix it.

When Rachel walks past Quinn's door, she hears the sobs through the wood. The gut-wrenching, heartbreaking sobs that pierce Rachel's heart.

And then she hears it.

The scream.

The guttural, painful, full-body, earth-shattering scream that comes from the very depths of Quinn's soul.

It's muffled by a pillow, but it's still piercing enough to _break_ her.

It breaks them both.


	3. vi, vii

**vi. i want to raise your spirits. i want to see you smile. know that means I have to leave.**

 

It's Santana who drops the news days later, like she's releasing a nuclear bomb right onto Rachel's already-bruised heart without a care in the world.

"So, Q's moving out."

Rachel's head snaps up so fast, her neck actually clicks. "What?" She practically shouts the word, and Santana gives her an unimpressed look as she leans back from the volume of Rachel's voice.

"I'm sitting _right here_ , Berry," she says. "There's no need to yell."

"Quinn is _not_ moving out."

Santana frowns at her as she reaches across the kitchen table and steals a wedge of apple from Rachel's plate. "Well, she says she is," Santana says. "Something about wanting to be closer to campus now that she's taking on more hours."

"No," Rachel says, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. This isn't happening. "No."

Santana raises her eyebrows. "By all means, Berry, try to convince her to say," she says. "But she looks pretty set on the idea. She's already found a new place and everything."

Rachel feels as if she's had all the breath knocked out of her, and she can barely get it back. What? No. Quinn can't leave. She _can't_. Rachel's definitely going to lose her that way, even though she's been doing a good enough job of that already.

The two of them haven't spoken or even _looked_ at each other in nine days. Not since the cast party, and not since Rachel went all… whatever she went.

Not since the first and last time Quinn _told_ her she loves her.

She's in love with her.

She'll probably never stop loving her.

They have been the longest nine days of Rachel's entire life.

And now she's leaving, and Rachel feels as if the entire world is starting to spin wildly out of control. Everything was fine. Everything was just the way it was supposed to be. She had an amazing best friend, and an amazing boyfriend.

And, now, just, nothing is okay.

Nothing.

 

While Quinn may be an expert at avoiding Rachel; Rachel is an expert at being stubborn, and this calls for drastic measures. She and Quinn are going to talk about this, and she's going to get her to stay. She can't just leave, and she sure as hell can't leave without even _telling_ Rachel.

What is that?

How can Quinn think that's even remotely okay?

So, Rachel camps out in the living room, waiting for her (she thinks) best friend to come home so they can _have it out_. It's a pitiful role reversal, and Rachel wonders how Quinn hasn't gone mad just sitting here night after night.

Oh.

Right.

It's because she's in love with Rachel.

 

It's almost one o'clock when Quinn finally gets back, and she's practically _sneaking in_ after exhausting all the time she possibly could at the library and then in her office. She just wants to spend as little time in this apartment as possible because, honestly, it hasn't got any easier for her to -

"You're not leaving."

Quinn freezes where she is, cursing herself for thinking she could come and go without Rachel trying to talk to her.

"I mean, were you even going to tell me?"

Quinn turns to face her on the couch, her own expression as passive as ever. She's been forced to school her features whenever they're around each other, and it's just so terribly exhausting. "Tell you what, exactly?" she asks. "I was under the impression I said everything I needed to say."

Rachel visibly flinches, but she forces herself to rise to her feet and move towards Quinn. "You're not leaving," she repeats.

"Why not?"

"Because - because you _can't_."

"Actually, I can," Quinn counters, tamping down on her own anger. "And, I am."

"Why?"

Quinn's facial expression turn incredulous. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

"Santana says you want to be closer to campus."

Quinn pinches the bridge of her nose. "Are you drunk?" she asks, looking past Rachel's form at the near-empty wine bottle on the coffee table.

"No."

Quinn sighs. "That's part of it, yes," she admits. "But I also just can't be _here_ anymore."

Rachel's eyes pool with tears.

"Don't do that," Quinn says, shaking her head. "It's been inevitable for some time, Rach. I just - I _can't_. You have to understand that."

"But I need you, Quinn."

Quinn closes her eyes for a moment. "You can't say things like that to me. You _can't_."

"But it's true," Rachel counters.

"Please stop," Quinn says, and she's actually begging this time. "I can't keep doing this with you, Rachel. For once, I'm making a decision for myself, and I really don't need you to try to sway that. I've already done _so much_ for you." She closes her eyes again. "I can't do this," she says. "I don't know how I'm supposed to get _over_ you when I can barely see _past_ you."

When she opens her eyes again, there are tears in them, and Rachel can barely breathe.

"Do you have any idea what it's like to be reminded of what you can't have every second of every day?" she asks, and Rachel almost brings up Finn, but they both know it's not the same. It was and will never be the same. "You're everywhere I look. You're literally in every fucking breath I take. I - I won't survive here. So, you're just going to have to find a way to accept it, okay? I need you to do that for me. I won't ask anything else of you. Just, allow me to get through this the way I need to."

Rachel feels her own tears start to fall. "I'm going to miss you," she mumbles.

"Oh, Rach," Quinn says, closing the distance between them and wrapping her arms around the brunette. "I'm going to miss you too," she says. "It'll be different, sure, but the best parts are all going to stay the same."

"Who's going to make me soup?" she asks, mumbling into Quinn's shoulder.

The blonde chuckles, squeezing her once, before she lets go and takes a step back. "I'll visit a lot," she says. "You know Britt wouldn't let me stay away. I'll cook for you then."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

 

Faced with the reality that Quinn is, in fact, leaving at the end of the month, Rachel descends into what she would call 'a manic panic.' She can barely eat or sleep, and she's definitely not cognisant enough to maintain any of her other relationships.

Her only respite is when she's on stage, and she gets to pretend to be someone else entirely for a few hours. When did her life get so complicated that she would rather be a fictional character?

Oh.

Yeah.

When Quinn decided to kiss her.

Every time she thinks about it, Rachel gets breathless. Her chest hurts and, sometimes, she even gets a headache. It's just not fair, and she can't seem to get a handle on any of her emotions surrounding Quinn's impending departure. She hasn't even managed to ask _where_ Quinn is going. She's too terrified to know.

She doesn't want to accept it's actually happening.

But it is.

And the feelings that truth stir in Rachel are ones she can't seem to grasp, which really leaves her with one option.

She has to talk to someone.

She has to talk to _Quinn_.

And, now that they've 'kind of' talked about all of this, Quinn isn't exactly avoiding her anymore. But she also doesn't look particularly pleased to see Rachel when she shows up at her bedroom door just before Quinn is scheduled to attend a faculty function in an hour.

Quinn is in the middle of getting ready, her hands currently fiddling with her left earring as she lets Rachel in. The brunette can just watch in wonder as Quinn floats about her bedroom with the grace of a fucking gazelle. It's not fair.

None of this is fair.

Quinn is dressed in tailored black pants and a crisp white blouse that hugs her body in all the best ways. Her blazer is hanging off the chair at her desk, and her heels are waiting to be slipped on at her bed.

"Hey," Quinn says, putting in her right earring as she sits at her vanity.

"Hey," Rachel manages to say.

Quinn frowns, looking at her through the mirror. "What's wrong?" she asks, pausing in her movement. Her makeup can wait.

"You're busy," Rachel says as she continues just to stand there.

"I have some time," she softly says, wary of spooking the brunette. "What's wrong?"

Rachel sighs, nervously wringing her fingers together in front of her. "I - I wanted to talk to you about something."

Quinn turns in her seat to face her. "Sounds serious," she muses. "What's on your mind?"

"A lot of things," Rachel admits.

"Okay…?"

"I just - I can't stand the thought of your being gone, and it's eating away at me," she starts, finding strength from _somewhere_. "I know things are going to change, and I'm just - I'm selfish and greedy and just really confused, and I didn't think I would ever be any of those things when it comes to you."

Quinn frowns, trying and failing to follow what Rachel is trying to tell her.

"I need you to help me make sense of all of this," she whispers.

"Help you how?"

She keeps her gaze determinedly on the blonde. "I need you to kiss me."

The makeup brush Quinn is holding drops to the floor, and her eyes snap towards Rachel. There's a question there but she never voices it. The two of them just stare at each other for the longest time, until Quinn, finally, slowly, relaxes.

And then starts to move.

Quinn's footsteps are slow and purposeful, and Rachel can't tear her eyes away if she tried. The blonde comes to a stop right in front of her, and the entire world falls away. She lifts a hand to turn Rachel's chin, tilting it upwards slightly, and her thumb traces her bottom lip.

Rachel's own hands settle at Quinn's waist, anchoring herself in case she floats away or passes out.

Quinn's gaze drops to Rachel's mouth, and their breaths mingle in the minimal space between them. Rachel can barely think straight as Quinn leans in, and her eyes drop closed as she waits.

But the kiss doesn't come.

Instead, Quinn rests her forehead against Rachel's and sighs. Rachel's eyes flutter open, and she can just about see Quinn's closed eyes and tense brow. Quinn's thumb is still on her bottom lip, smooth in its movement.

Eventually, Quinn exhales, "No." It sounds as if it pains her to say the word, and Rachel imagines it _must_. "No," she says again.

Rachel furrows her brow. "But - " she starts, confused. "I thought - don't you want to?"

Quinn chuckles darkly. "I do," she says, breaking their contact and stepping back. "You have no idea how much I want to." She shakes her head. "But I won't take another kiss from you that you don't want."

Rachel shakes her head. "But I'm asking you to," she argues. "You wouldn't be _taking_ anything."

Quinn still looks determined. "Why are you asking?" she presses. "What are you hoping to achieve?"

Rachel swallows, suddenly feeling as if this is a very important interview. "I want to be sure."

"Of what?"

Rachel closes her eyes, frustrated. She wasn't expecting this, and the words aren't coming. This is what only Quinn Fabray can do to her. "You - you make me feel things," she starts. "I thought kissing you would - " she stops, suddenly horrified with herself. "Oh, God," she says, covering her mouth. "Quinn, I'm sorry," she says. "That's just wildly inappropriate and so insanely insensitive to your feelings, and I'm just a mess, and I don't want you to go, and I just want to fix this, and what does it say about me when the only way I can think to sort out all my fucked up feelings is to kiss you?"

Quinn just stares at her for a long moment, a little dumbstruck. "I thought you grew out of the rambling."

Rachel's mouth drops open in surprise. "Quinn!"

Quinn grins at her, and Rachel is just able to register her relief that Quinn doesn't seem to hate her for her lapse in judgment. But then, a moment later, the grin is gone, and she has a sober look on her face.

"Quinn," Rachel breathes.

Quinn shakes her head. "It's very difficult for me to say no to you," she says. "My entire body is fighting with me at the moment, so I need you not to ask anything like that of me ever again, okay?"

Rachel can only stare at her.

" _If_ ever we kiss, and I'm not holding my breath for that day, don't worry, then I want it to be because _you actually want to_." She presses her lips together. "Not because you're confused and want to be sure. Not because you want to prove something or want to try to get me to stay. You don't _have_ to feel for me what I feel for you, Rachel. I've come to accept it, and I'm sorry that things have to change between us. I truly am. If ever we kiss, I want it to be because you _love_ me, or at least _will_ one day." She smiles sadly. "Not because you've convinced yourself you _have_ to, in order to get me to stay. Neither of us deserves that."

Rachel has to hold back her tears because she feels even _more_ awful after hearing that.

"Come here," Quinn says, spreading her arms to offer an embrace that Rachel willingly takes.

Rachel nuzzles into her shoulder as she wraps her arms around Quinn's waist. "I'm sorry," she mumbles into Quinn's cardigan. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't," Quinn murmurs. She doesn't say it's okay, because it's really not, but she doesn't want to hear any more apologies.

She's sick of apologies.

Rachel just breathes her in and tries desperately to savour this moment, because she just knows that it's one of their last.

* * *

**vii. i'm sorry i can't give enough. these scars, they only leave me numb.**

 

With the end of April quickly approaching, Rachel can't seem to _settle_. Things are already different between her and Quinn, yes, but they're also not wildly different. Quinn still comes to her room in the mornings, and she still waits up every night.

They don't talk as much as they used to, but the touches are still there. Rachel finds a certain sense of comfort in them, but she also finds desperation. They're running out of time, and Rachel is powerless to stop it.

At the end of April, Quinn will be gone, and it'll be like none of this even happened.

That's the plan, anyway.

Quinn is _convinced_ some time and space is what she needs, and Rachel is going to try to give it to her. She knows it's going to be difficult - Rachel doesn't like this kind of change - but she's willing to try, for Quinn's sake.

Anything for Quinn.

Everything for Quinn.

 

It's when the boxes start showing up that Rachel's resolve wavers. She's fighting her instincts to hold onto Quinn with every fibre of her being and her desire to give Quinn what she asked for. It's just that the boxes bring forth a reality that Rachel isn't ready for.

Life without Quinn.

Okay, that's a little melodramatic, but she has a feeling it's exactly what she's going to get if she lets Quinn move out. She'll start to see her less and less, and then they won't even talk on the phone anymore. And then they're going to be those people who text. And then just email. And then it'll be just birthday messages on _Facebook_.

God, she's going to have to find out Quinn is in a relationship from _Facebook_.

Suffice to say, Rachel's not handling anything about this situation well, at all.

As a result, she almost strangles Santana when the Latina brings up probably starting to look for another roommate. The way she says it, just so casually, as if she isn't even the least bit upset that their friend is moving out, just makes Rachel's blood boil, and she has to lock herself in her bedroom before she causes someone bodily harm.

This is getting dangerous.

It's been dangerous for a while.

 

"Are we throwing a farewell party?" Brittany asks the next night, and Rachel's jaw tenses.

Quinn stops chopping vegetables to look at her blonde friend. "That's really not necessary," she says, ever the diplomat, and Rachel wants to stab her with the knife she's holding.

Why is it that Quinn is able to _do_ this to her?

"Easy with the lettuce there," Santana suddenly says, and Rachel snaps to attention.

"What?"

Santana points at her hands. "You're crushing the Romain," she says. "What did it ever do to you?"

Rachel looks down at her hands and, indeed, she's got her fists tightly clenched around poor, unsuspecting lettuce. She sighs, uncurling her hands. She shakes her head, ignores Quinn's curious look, and then pushes the bowl away and exits the kitchen.

She feels dismantled, disjoint, in disarray.

She's just a mess, and she doesn't know how to get her footing back. Where's the solid ground here? When does this particular carousel just _stop_?

Rachel goes to her bedroom, locks the door and throws herself face down on her bed. She just lies there, breathing.

This feeling will go away, she's sure.

She _needs_ it to go away.

She needs something to _give_.

 

What must be an hour later, she hears a gentle knock on her door. She's tried to sleep but her mind is too active and her body is too restless. She already knows who's behind the door, but she answers anyway.

Quinn is standing there with a plate of food and an adorably sheepish expression on her face. "Permission to enter?"

Rachel can't help her smile, and she grabs the front of Quinn's shirt and drags her into the room. It helps that she willingly comes, a little grin on her face.

"I have a delivery, by the way," Quinn says, offering her the plate of food.

"Did you eat?"

Quinn nods, as they move towards Rachel's bed. They end up sitting side by side, their backs against her headboard and their legs spread out in front of them.

They're not touching, and that's okay.

It's probably for the best.

Quinn waits until Rachel's eaten exactly four bites before she speaks. "You're mad at me," she says, and it's a statement, not a question. "And that's okay. You can be mad at me, and I can be sorry about it, but we both know this is the best course of action."

Rachel glances at her. "What happens if absence makes the heart grow fonder?"

"Then I'm fucking screwed," Quinn attempts to joke, but her tone is anything but amused. "It's doubtful, though," she muses, almost to herself. "I don't know how much fonder I _could_ get."

Rachel swallows thickly, her heart rate rising.

Quinn clears her throat. "Sorry," she says, and then cringes. God, she hates apologies. "Anyway, be mad, it's okay. Just know it's going to get better. It might take a while, but it's going to happen, and then everything will be great again."

"Do you really believe that?"

Quinn thinks it over. "Right now, I don't have much choice _but_ to believe it," she says. "I have to believe that, one day, I'll stop feeling like this."

"Like what?"

"Like I can barely breathe," she says. "I - I just can't seem to catch my breath when you're around, and I need to get away before I end up suffocating." She frowns. "That sounds awful, doesn't it? Like you're going to end up killing me if I stay?" She hums in thought, and it's as if Rachel isn't even sitting there. "Horrible, yes, but accurate."

Rachel's appetite dies with the sound of those words.

"I think about it in terms of the Universe, sometimes," Quinn says, and she's not even looking at Rachel. "Like, this is all some kind of cosmic slap in the face, you know? The girl who once had it all doomed to suffer an unrequited love for the girl whose life she made a living hell in high school."

" _Quinn_."

"For what it's worth, Rachel," she says sadly; "I truly am sorry." She licks her lips. "I know you said not to apologise for love, but I can't help feeling as if I just ruined everything. I was doing well, you know, hiding it, and then I turned twenty-three, and, _God_ , I've been hiding for so fucking long." She rubs her hands along her thighs. "I'm just so tired, Rachel. Like, _exhausted_ beyond anything I've ever experienced before, and I was under Sue Sylvester for far too long. So, yeah, I'm sorry it has to be like this. Be mad at me, it's okay. Just, one day, I hope you'll forgive me."

Rachel shifts closer. "There's nothing to forgive, Quinn," she whispers. "And, even if there was, I've probably already done it a thousand times over."

Quinn shakes her head, her eyes closing. "Sometimes, I _really_ wish you were an awful bitch," she says, chuckling softly. "It would make my life so much easier."

Rachel can't stop herself from blushing. "Sorry," she says.

"Hey," Quinn says, frowning at her. "If I don't have to apologise, then neither do you," she declares. "It's definitely not your fault you're so…" she trails off.

"Amazing?" Rachel offers, smiling winningly.

Quinn chuckles. "Something like that, yeah."

Rachel sighs, fiddling with her fork as she pushes her food around. "Will you make me soup before you leave?" she asks, almost whispering.

Quinn smiles at her. "Already done," she says. "I made a _huge_ pot this morning, let it cool, sectioned it out and froze it. So, if you're craving some and I haven't managed to make a fresh batch in a while, you'll have some."

Rachel just watches her face for the longest time, seeing the ease with which she smiles but all the pain swirling behind her beautiful hazel eyes. Rachel doesn't think she's actually _seen_ Quinn without something haunting her.

Right now, _Rachel_ is the only one who can take it all away, and she has the sudden - dangerous, so very dangerous - urge to reach across and just kiss the pain away.

Rachel gasps at that, and Quinn looks at her.

"Are you choking?" the blonde asks, and Rachel actually _has_ to laugh at that. Quinn's eyebrows rise. "Well, if you're not, you're bound to if you keep laughing like some kind of she-demon."

 _I want to kiss you_.

Rachel shakes her head at the thought.

This isn't happening.

None of this is happening.

Quinn steals a cube of cucumber from Rachel's plate and pops it in her mouth, and Rachel _knows_ this is the end. It's the end of _something_ , and her head is swimming with _I want to kiss you_ and _we can't_ and _this is too dangerous_.

Rachel subtly shifts away, and sets the plate on her night stand. Quinn is too close to her. She smells too intoxicating and her presence is starting to overwhelm Rachel. God, is this what Quinn goes through on a daily basis? No wonder she can't get away fast enough.

It takes Rachel a few minutes but she's able to gather enough control to spend a - deceptively difficult - hour with Quinn until the blonde yawns. And then Rachel yawns.

They share a laugh, and Rachel refuses to believe it's one of their last.

It's going to get better.

It _has_ to.

When Quinn stands to leave, Rachel gets up as well. She's not sure why, but she just wants to drag this out. She doesn't want her to go, but she knows she has to. They've spent far too much time alone, together, and her good sense is almost shot completely.

"Everything is going to be okay, right?" Rachel asks, because she _needs_ to hear it from Quinn.

Quinn smiles softly. "Isn't that what you promised?"

"I'm trusting myself less and less these days," she murmurs, her eyes never straying from Quinn.

Quinn presses her lips together, trying to ignore the sudden shift in the air between them. "Rachel?" It's whispered, barely there.

Rachel steps forward, her eyes seeking Quinn's. She doesn't have to look far, because she's _right there_ , and Rachel feels her heart leap into her throat.

She's _right here_.

"Yes, Quinn?" she murmurs, just _knowing_ there's _purpose_ to this moment. Quinn is so ridiculously beautiful right now, and Rachel knows they're about to cross some line.

 _She's_ going to cross it, because she _wants_ it.

She wants _Quinn_.

They're standing so close together, just mere breaths away.

"Quinn," she breathes, her heart racing. Quinn is right in front of her, all cinnamon and apples and pouty lips and perfectly-coiffed hair.

Oh, God, she _wants_.

"Quinn," she says on an exhale. "Please?"

"Please what?" Quinn whispers.

"Kiss me."

And Quinn sucks in a sharp breath, her eyes immediately flicking down to Rachel's parted lips. "Rachel," she says quietly, and she sounds like she's in pain; like she _begging_ for something.

" _Please_."

And Quinn can no longer deny her request. She leans forward, getting closer, and Rachel forces herself to keep her eyes open until she feels them.

Quinn's lips.

Feather light, barely there, and her heart aches at how _soft_ they are.

Everything is just soft.

Even when Quinn adds pressure, Rachel is amazed by how gentle she is. Her own eyes flutter closed, and her mouth parts, inviting _more_.

Quinn's kiss is unhurried, soft and gentle, and it's breaking apart everything hard about Rachel. The brunette's fingers clutch at Quinn's shirt, and she wants more. She wants everything, and she doesn't understand how Quinn could have possibly stayed in such _control_ for so long.

Quinn's fingers lace through her hair, and Rachel sighs into her warm mouth, letting out a small whimper. Which is the very sound to bring them back to their senses because, a beat later, it's gone.

Quinn's exploring fingers.

Her sweet lips.

Everything.

Just, gone.

Rachel's eyes open slowly, disoriented. Her mouth threatens a smile, but the sight of Quinn's hard eyes, clenched jaw and tight fists stops her.

"Quinn," she breathes.

"Don't," Quinn clips. "Don't you dare say anything."

Rachel's mouth slams shut.

"You don't get to ask me to kiss you," she seethes. "You don't just get to do that. God, Rachel. Don't you know how _hard_ it already is without you just dangling temptation in front of me? Fuck. Is this fun for you? Are you enjoying being able to torture me, like some kind of payback for high school?"

And… Rachel's mouth drops open.

"Because it's working," Quinn says, and she sounds so broken and defeated. "You told me you love me, _before_. And I asked if you meant it. Has that changed?"

"No," Rachel immediately says.

Quinn nods once. "Then, please, Rachel, just leave me the fuck alone."

Rachel is crying but, miraculously, Quinn isn't.

"Just let me be," Quinn says. "I don't want to see you, and I don't want to hear from you." She shakes her head. "You have the power to destroy me, and I'm too in love with you to deny you. So, please, don't ask me for anything ever again." Her gaze meets Rachel's. "Please stop being selfish. You're supposed to be the good person between the two of us, remember."

And then she turns and exits the bedroom, disappearing into the night.

Everything is just wrong, and Rachel knows she lied to herself.

She lied to them both.

Everything is _not_ going to be okay.

 

In the morning, Quinn is gone.

There's a note on the fridge that says _something_ , but Rachel can't make out any of Quinn's perfect handwriting through her tears.

Santana finds her on the floor in the kitchen, her back against a low cabinet, and her knees clutched to her chest. She's rocking herself, lost in her thoughts, and Santana's worry piques at the sight of her. As quietly as she can, she moves to sit beside her, suddenly wary. She's not good at this kind of thing, so she just sits there until Rachel decides to speak.

It takes exactly eleven minutes.

"Quinn's gone," she says, her voice cracking. "She's gone, Santana, and I don't think she's ever coming back."

Santana frowns. "She's just moving to - "

"No," Rachel interrupts, shaking her head. "You don't understand. Quinn is _gone_. She's gone, and I - " her voice catches. "I - I - _oh, God_."

Santana's entirely aware that she's missing _something_ but, between medical school and her girlfriend, that could be _anything_.

Rachel scrubs her face with her hands, and then sighs. "Remember I told you I had nightmares about Quinn?" she says softly, keeping her gaze directed at her own hands.

Santana nods. "I remember."

"Well, they weren't _all_ nightmares," she confesses. "Some of them were dreams. Good ones." She relaxes slightly. "I dreamt of Quinn floating about a kitchen that felt like ours, and she was glowing and happy and _alive_. Another time, I dreamt of us huddled together watching Christmas movies late at night, with her arm around my shoulders and our legs tangled." She smiles softly, lost in the image. "I once dreamt of us strolling through Central Park with our hands clasped. And - and another time, we were lying in bed, all tangled limbs, messy hair and bright eyes. We were happy.

"And, in those dreams, Quinn always told me she loved me, in that quiet, reverent way she does, that tells you she means every single word she's saying. And I always said it right back."

When Rachel looks at Santana, the Latina is caught off guard by the depth of loss and sorrow in her brown eyes.

"But this is real life," Rachel says, clutching Quinn's note to her chest. "Those are just dreams, and this is is real life, Santana. This is real life and, when she said the words, I didn't say them back. I _couldn't_."

Santana's jaw drops down in surprise.

Rachel closes her eyes and leans her head back. In her mind she sees her future. And, sure, she's always been convinced that she sees her future when she looks at Jesse, but it's only just occurred to her now that _that_ \- any, really - future never exists without Quinn.

She's always right there.

And, suddenly, Rachel knows exactly what she has to do.


	4. vii, ix, x

**viii. i made a grave mistake. true love, miscalculated.**

 

"Well, you definitely can't go flying in there, guns blazing, declaring your love like a mad woman," Santana says, and Rachel rolls her eyes in response. "What? I'm just saying. There's no way that's going to work."

"And I agree with you," Rachel says, staring into her closet for something to wear. "I'm not going to do that. I'm not going to do _anything_."

"See, I hear you saying that, but I'm still not accepting it," she says. "Why wouldn't you be grovelling at her feet right this instant?"

"Because she asked me for time," Rachel answers immediately, reaching for a plain blue dress. "She wants time and space and, frankly, I think I do too."

"Why?"

Rachel whirls around to look at her. "Because, in exactly seventy-five minutes, I'm going to break Jesse's heart, and I would much rather do that with the understanding that I don't intend to go seeking another relationship immediately." She sighs. "And, plus, Quinn probably hates me, right now."

"She's in love with you, Berry," Santana says; "believe me, there is no hate anywhere."

"Fine," Rachel concedes. "But she's very angry with me."

"Do you blame her?"

"No," Rachel says, and it's true. "I pushed when I shouldn't, and I'll have to apologise for that. I still think we both need some time and space. It's better this way."

Santana shakes her head. "I still think you should at least inform her of recent developments."

Rachel shakes her head, adamant. "I've already made enough mistakes," she says. "I don't want to keep doing that when it comes to Quinn. She's not some consolation prize. She's - she's - " she stops, unable to find the words.

"Wow," Santana says. "You _have_ got it bad."

Rachel sighs.

She really has.

 

Seventy-five minutes later, Rachel finds herself sitting opposite Jesse on the couch in his apartment, a pensive look on her face, and an expectant one on his. It's almost as if he _knows_ what's coming, and that makes her feel both better and worse at the same time. He's been so good and kind and understanding and she does love him, it's just that -

"It's her, isn't it?"

Rachel's breath catches, and she has to force herself to keep looking at him. There's no anger or hatred in his eyes, and she hates herself for how relieved she feels.

She doesn't actually think it's all to do with Quinn, but a large chunk of it _is_ , and she doesn't even know what to do with that information.

So she tells him 'yes,' and then proceeds to tell him everything.

The entire story.

All of it.

To his credit, Jesse just sits and listens and, by the end of it, she's sobbing uncontrollably and he's pulling her into his arms.

"I'm sorry," she cries into his chest. "I'm so sorry."

Jesse doesn't tell her it's okay, because it honestly isn't. It's the furthest thing from okay, really, and he's probably not going to want to see her for a while, but he knows and understands as well as anyone how powerless a person can be to love.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," Rachel continues. "I never wanted to hurt you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Jesse rubs her back soothingly, mentally congratulating himself for how mature he's being. He _should_ be throwing a fit, but even he knows there's nothing to be gained from such a reaction.

At a certain point, he has to tell her to stop apologising. "I thought you were the one who said we are _never_ to apologise for love," he says.

"I am," she agrees, wiping at her eyes. "I'm apologising for hurting you; for essentially cheating on you. I'm apologising for wrecking our plans."

He smiles sadly. "But that's all they ever were, Rachel," he says. "Just _plans_."

She frowns.

"Plans can change."

She lets out a watery laugh because, yeah, that's the understatement of the century.

"And plus," he says, injecting some _Jesse_ into his voice; "we definitely wouldn't have worked out in the end."

"Oh?"

"I'm far too talented for you."

Now, she laughs a little louder. "That may be true."

He sobers slightly. "We wouldn't have worked because you've never allowed me to lead," he says. "The only time you surrender is when we're having sex, and I don't think our relationship would have survived _that_ in the long run. At some point, we would clash."

Her brow furrows. "But I surrender to Quinn?"

"I don't need to answer that question for you, Rach," he says. "It's been that way from the very beginning, and you know it as well as I do."

She sighs. "I'm still sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he murmurs, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. "Just be happy."

 

Rachel is still a crying mess when she gets back to the apartment, and Brittany is there to wrap her in a hug while she cries herself to sleep. She's managed to convince herself she never deserved Jesse anyway, and she definitely doesn't deserve Quinn.

She deserves to be alone.

First, she breaks Quinn's heart, and now Jesse's.

Hers deserves to stay broken too.

* * *

**ix. life can show no mercy. it can tear your soul apart.**

 

"Jesus, can you stop with the moping already?"

Rachel frowns at Santana. "Firstly, I'm _not_ moping," she says primly; "I'm concentrating. And, secondly, stop taking it out on me that your girlfriend decided to spend the evening with Quinn and Kurt, and not you."

Santana practically growls at her. "It's _your_ fault, you know?"

Rachel _does_ know, and she really doesn't need Santana to remind her. "Nobody _asked_ you to stay behind," she counters.

"Would you rather be alone?"

Rachel narrows her eyes. "I don't need you to pity me, Santana, and I definitely don't need you to do me any favours." She shakes her head. "Also, I really would rather not have to spend time with someone who's constantly reminding me how badly I fucked up with Quinn."

Santana rolls her eyes, and then sighs. "I still think you should just tell her you dumped St Jackass," she says. "Even if that's all you say, just tell her. Wouldn't you want to know, if you were her?"

"My relationship status has no bearing on what either of us is feeling."

"You're all kinds of stupid if you honestly believe that."

"Santana."

"Berry."

"Just shut up and watch the screen. There's a song coming up."

"I bet there is."

 

It's when Rachel comes home to an empty apartment for the fourth Tuesday in a row that she almost loses it. She crawls onto the couch and buries herself under _Quinn's_ blanket and just cries.

She misses her.

God, she misses her.

She misses her smile and her laugh and her voice and her sarcasm and her touch and her attention and her presence. She misses the way she always clears her throat when she's uncomfortable and the way her eyes alway seek out Rachel the moment she walks into a room.

She misses everything about her.

 

In the morning, when Santana finds her still tucked away on the couch, she gives her a steaming cup of coffee and a slice of toast, and then asks her when her next night off is.

"Why?"

"Britt wants to cook for you."

Rachel resists the urge to grimace at the idea because Santana is _right there_. Brittany is a worse cook than Rachel is, and that's saying something.

Santana laughs. "Don't worry," she says. "I'll be running interference."

Rachel smiles sheepishly. "I didn't _say_ anything."

"And that's the only reason your nose isn't broken right now."

"How generous."

"It's my middle name."

"Actually, your middle name is - "

"Finish that sentence, Berry, and I really _will_ break your fucking nose."

Rachel just grins at her, and then quietly sips at her coffee, a picture of innocence. "Sure thing, Santana Guadalupe Lopez."

"Why you little - "

Rachel squeals, and she manages to dodge Santana's sudden lunge. She scoots back, hops over the back of the couch and scrambles out of the room towards her bedroom.

All without dropping a drop of her coffee.

 

It isn't until the next Monday that Rachel can get the evening off from her show, and she'll happily spend it with Santana and Brittany. She acknowledges that she _has_ been a bit down. After everything that's happened with Quinn and with Jesse, she thinks it's normal to feel a little… lack lustre.

She's been dealing with the guilt regarding Jesse, which she thinks is now fully out of her system, and she's still tackling the entire mess of emotions that comes with Quinn Fabray. It's just too much to unpack sometimes, and she reasons tonight isn't the night for that.

No, she's _decided_ it isn't.

Instead, a night with her friends is exactly what she needs to give her head and heart a bit of a breather.

"You did remember I'm a vegan, right?" Rachel calls out as soon as she gets home to the sound of clattering going on in the kitchen.

"Yes!" Santana shouts back, exasperated. "Do you have to keep fucking reminding me? Seriously. All you fucking vegans!"

"Yes, I do!" Rachel shouts right back as she strolls into the kitchen. "The one time I didn't make a point to tell you, you conveniently forgot."

"Shut up!"

"You shut up!"

Brittany pops her head out of their bedroom door. "Girls," she says, and both brunettes shut up.

"That's your girlfriend," Rachel whispers to Santana.

"I know," she says dreamily.

Rachel rolls her eyes. "I'm going to change," she says, and then disappears into her own bedroom. It's just dinner at home, so she doesn't put in too much effort. She wants to be comfortable and relaxed, so she throws on an old pair of Quinn's McKinley sweatpants, one of Quinn's _Coldplay_ t-shirts and a pair of fuzzy socks that, yes, belong to Quinn.

God, she's pathetic.

When she gets back to the kitchen, Brittany is also in there, and she's stirring a pot. Rachel panics for just a second before Santana throws in some kind of spice, stirs, gives it a taste, and then nods in approval.

Phew.

"Is it good, then?" Rachel asks, and Santana's head snaps towards her.

"Better than good," she says, and then narrows her eyes slightly.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Rachel asks, eyeing Santana curiously. "Just tell me the truth. I won't be mad. I mean, I will, but I'll feel much better if you were just upfront with it. _Did_ you actually add meat to my vegan food again? Santana, I told you that - " she quiets at the sound of a knock at the door. "Oh. I didn't know we were expecting company."

Santana shrugs. "It's one of Britt's friends," she says offhandedly, as said blonde disappears from the kitchen to answer the door.

Rachel keeps her eyes on Santana, her back to the door. "So, not the food then?" she says, humming in thought as she tries to diagnose Santana's sudden strangeness. "Is there something wrong with my outfit then?" she asks. "I mean, you were looking at me as if I - " she stops again at the sound of a gasp.

A gasp she recognises.

Rachel whirls around, her heart leaping into her throat when her eyes settle on Quinn Fabray standing in the doorway.

Oh, God.

Quinn.

She's here.

She's standing right there.

Looking as perfect and beautiful as ever.

And livid.

She looks positively murderous.

Oh.

Quinn's eyes dart from Rachel to Santana to Brittany, back to Rachel and then finally to Santana again. "You lied to me," she seethes, and her hands are shaking.

Rachel looks at the Latina. "You didn't tell her I was going to be here?" she accuses. "Wait. You didn't tell _me_ _she_ was going to be here."

Brittany looks disappointed. "San."

Santana ignores them all as she straightens to her full height. "Yes," she says; "I lied."

Quinn's fists clench tightly.

"I lied because you two obviously need to talk," Santana says.

Quinn's white hot anger dissipates immediately, only to give way to something ice cold as it spreads through her entire body, chilling her to the bone. "And why would we need to do that?" she asks, her voice unexpectedly _steady_.

Santana starts to speak, but Rachel cuts her off.

"Santana," she warns, and it's enough.

It's more than enough, actually, because Quinn sees the way Santana now gives _her_ a look of understanding and sympathy and - is that a smirk?

For just a moment, Quinn imagines this is all some awful, terrible dream, and she's about to wake up. Her eyes are going to open any second now, and she's going to be in her new bedroom and she'll be able to laugh it off.

But, no.

This is really happening.

Santana is looking at her as if she _knows_ , and Quinn's stomach bottoms out. Her fingers go numb, and she suddenly feels faint. The world sways slightly, and Brittany puts her hand out, but Quinn shrugs it off.

Quinn looks from Santana to Rachel, and then back. "You've got to be fucking kidding me, right?" she asks, a sarcastic laugh sitting in her throat.

Rachel steps forward, her hands up, as if Quinn is some rabid animal that needs to be _handled_.

"No," Quinn snaps at her. "Don't fucking come near me!" She steps back, her heart thundering in her chest. She can't shake the feeling that this all some big, sick joke where she's the punchline. She half expects all their other friends to pop out from behind the furniture and point and laugh.

This isn't happening.

This can't be happening.

"Q," Santana says. "Look, it's okay; it's just - "

"Okay?" Quinn yells, and everybody flinches - including her. " _Okay_?" She laughs darkly. "What part of any of this is _okay_?" She runs a rough hand over her hair. "Huh? The part where you lied to me because you thought you were doing some great fucking deed or the part where you didn't tell me you _knew_ I was in love with Rachel and decided to make me feel like a fucking _idiot_ by having her here?"

Her entire body is shaking, and she's going to pass out.

Oh, God.

She puts a hand out to support herself on the counter, and the action forces all three of them to step forward.

"Don't fucking touch me," she screams, and they all freeze. "What is this supposed to be?" she asks, her voice cracking. "I can't - I don't - " she stops, her body trembling so uncontrollably, she doesn't think she can even stay upright. "Does everyone know?" she asks.

Rachel just closes her mouth.

"Who?" Quinn snaps. "Santana? Brittany? Kurt and Blaine? Puck?" Her eyes widen. "Oh, my God, does _Jesse_ know?"

The lack of answer almost sends her into oblivion.

This isn't happening.

It's literally her worst nightmare, and she can barely breathe. She just _can't_ breathe, and she curses her shoddy left lung and that stupid, fucking accident that _really_ should have just claimed her stupid, insignificant life.

"Is this it?" she asks, finding her voice. "It's all some big, twisted joke, isn't it? I bet you all laugh about it, huh? How Quinn Fabray, the Christian girl, President of the fucking Celibacy Club happens to love _a girl_. The teenager who got _pregnant_ after having sex _once_ is now _gay_. It's all kinds of fucked up, isn't it? It's just the funniest thing. I find it particularly hilarious myself, and I'm so glad I can offer you all suitable entertainment."

"Quinn - " Santana starts.

"Shut up!" she shouts. "Just, shut up. Nobody talks. _I'm_ talking." She's seething. She's burning with rage and such an unfathomable _fear_ that she can't even see straight. Literal white spots are blurring her vision. "I actually can't believe this is happening," she says. "I'm literally in shock." She looks at Rachel. "How could you? I thought, even if you could never love me back, that you at least cared enough to - to - I don't know - respect my secrets and my choices and my _right_ to come out to whomever I wanted whenever I wanted."

Rachel is openly crying now, and she doesn't even have the words to explain herself.

Quinn shakes her head, feeling a little bit more steady. "I am so fucking _furious_ , I don't even know what to do with myself," she says, and her eyes are blazing. "God, I can't even breathe."

Brittany attempts to step forward, and Quinn shoots her such a scathing look that she jerks back.

Quinn softens slightly. "Touch me, and I actually might slap you," she says; "and I really don't want to."

Brittany just nods sadly, and Quinn forces herself to take a deep, calming breath.

It doesn't work.

"I have to get out of here," she says, shaking her head to clear it.

"Quinn," Santana says, risking a step forward.

"No!" Quinn snaps. "You lied to me, and you apparently lied to Rachel as well. You had no fucking right to get involved in any of this. _Especially_ not when it comes to me, and I am so fucking angry with you so, if you have any good sense, and I like to think you do, you'll keep your fucking mouth shut and allow me to walk out of here, because I _will_ punch you."

Santana's eyes narrow, but she eventually nods.

Quinn takes a step back, and then another. She only turns away when she's safely out of the kitchen, and the other three know not to go after her.

Rachel spins to face Santana. "What the fuck was that?" she asks harshly.

"I was just trying to help," she weakly defends.

"By ambushing her?"

"I didn't think she was going to react like that!"

Rachel shakes her head. "You claim every day that you and Quinn are one and the same, right? That you probably know her best, right?"

Santana nods.

"Then you _should_ have known the kind of damage this would do," she hisses. "Jesus, Santana, just think about how _you_ would have reacted." She huffs out a breath. "The only difference is Quinn is too polite to throw a punch."

* * *

**x. these scars run as deep as my love was, and i can't cover them up.**

 

"How many times do I have to tell you I'm sorry?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. "I told you that you could stop like fifty apologies ago," she says.

"But you're still angry," Santana points out.

"Indeed, I am," she says. "An apology doesn't automatically make everything okay, you know? Contrary to popular belief, that's not how it works. It doesn't have those kinds of magical properties."

Santana sighs. "Has Quinn responded to you?"

"No," she answers, smiling sadly. "I think she's - "

"Fucking angry?"

"Something like that, yeah."

Santana reaches out to poke Rachel's cheek. "Everyone is angry with me," she says. "I was just trying to help."

"I know," Rachel says. "You just did it wrong."

"Do you think she'll ever forgive me?"

Rachel doesn't know what to answer because, honestly, she doesn't know. Quinn is a deeply private person, and this has been a secret she's kept close to her chest for _years_. So, no, Rachel doesn't know what to say.

"Do you think _you_ ever will?" Santana asks, her voice smaller than Rachel's ever heard it before.

Rachel sighs. "I betrayed her trust, too."

"You haven't answered my question."

Rachel rolls her eyes, and then looks Santana square in the eye. "I love you, San, so of course I'm going to forgive you." She sighs again. "Just, not today."

Santana looks thoughtful for a moment, and then nods her head once. "I suppose I'll take it."

 

Rachel waits exactly six days to ask Brittany for Quinn's address, and she's so relieved when the blonde actually gives it to her. Brittany also doesn't even ask her 'why' she wants the address, which is a relief.

Though.

"Bring her home," Brittany says, which, yes, isn't any pressure at all.

Rachel just nods, and then sets off to fix what's been broken.

It's a Sunday, so Rachel knows Quinn is at home. She usually spends her Sundays reading or writing in her bedroom. Rachel used to lie on her bed with her, just enjoying her presence, whether she was on the bed as well or at her desk.

Rachel just liked _being_ with her.

She really just misses her.

So, Rachel goes to Quinn's new apartment with the sole intention of _seeing_ her. Talking to her. Apologising to her. Telling her that she's loved.

She's so loved.

Rachel thinks she's prepared for anything, even rejection, so she's pleasantly surprised when a bubbly redheaded woman answers the door and invites her inside after she's introduced herself as a friend ( _cringe_ ) of Quinn's.

"I'm Jessica, Quinn's roommate," she says, entirely too cheerfully. "I'm just on my way out. Quinn is just in her room. It's the second door on the right."

And then she leaves, essentially, a stranger in her apartment.

Rachel counts to ten under her breath, and then she goes to knock on Quinn's door.

"Come on in, Jess," she says, and Rachel cringes again.

 _Oh, well_.

Rachel pushes open the door to find Quinn sitting at her desk. The room is similar in setup to her old one, but Rachel isn't even paying attention to that. She's rather looking at Quinn, who is also looking at her. With wide eyes and unconcealed anger and confusion.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, her tone of voice unfriendly.

"I wanted to see you," Rachel says, almost sheepishly. "I wanted to apologise in person."

"That was unnecessary." Quinn rises to her feet. "Did Jessica let you in?"

Rachel nods.

Quinn rolls her eyes as she shakes her head, clearly annoyed. "She'll let just anyone inside."

There's a beat of charged silence before Rachel speaks, her voice steady and unassuming. "Quinn?"

"What?"

"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm so sorry."

"For what?" she snaps. "Telling everyone my secrets or - "

"Quinn," Rachel interrupts. "I get that you're angry," she says; "but will you at least give me the chance to explain?"

"And why should I?"

"Because you hate this as much as I do," she says. "Maybe the anger is easier to hold onto right now, but I hate this, and you hate this. I just want my best friend back, and I'm never going to get that until we talk about this."

"So, it's all about you then?"

Rachel sighs in exasperation. "Are you seriously going to fight me at every step?"

Quinn presses her lips together.

Rachel risks a step forward. "I'm sorry," she says. "None of this should happened."

"None of what?"

Rachel just _knows_ she's never going to get through this unscathed, and she's so irritated with Quinn for making this so purposefully difficult. "Well, for starters, you definitely shouldn't have kissed me."

Quinn reels back as if she's been slapped. "Excuse me?" she hisses. " _You_ 're the one who asked - "

"The first time," Rachel cuts in. "The first time, Quinn. On the couch. The night after your birthday."

Quinn presses her lips together, glaring. "Perhaps," she says. "It would have saved us all the trouble and me all this heartache."

"Oh, and I haven't been experiencing any 'heartache?'" she asks, suddenly annoyed. "It's not all about you, you know?"

"What could you possibly be heartsore about?" Quinn snaps. "You've got everything you want, haven't you?"

Rachel grits her teeth. _Stay calm_. "No, I haven't," she says. "The second you kissed me, you complicated _everything_."

"Oh, well, then I'm sorry," she says. "What would have me do, huh? I can't exactly go back in time, and I wouldn't even if I could, because at least now I know where I stand with you. Where I stand with all of you."

"Why are you being so dramatic?"

Quinn sputters. "Dramatic? _You're_ calling _me_ dramatic? That's rich coming from you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what that means!" she practically growls. "I might be the one who kissed you, but you and your - your _drama_ made it so much worse. Why couldn't you have just - just _let it be_?"

"Let it be?" she snaps back. "You practically hid yourself away! How was that _not_ dramatic?"

"I needed time!" she yells. "But you had to - to _punch my door_!"

"I had to see you!" Rachel shouts, and both their voices keep rising. "And who knew how long your self-imposed moping was going to last?"

"There you go with your word 'moping,'" she says, laughing sarcastically. " _God_."

"What would you call it then?"

"Dealing."

"Bullshit."

"That's _exactly_ what I would call _this_ right here," she snaps, taking steps forward as her stomach coils in anticipation of whatever _this_ is. "You aren't even here for me. You're just here to ease your own guilt!"

Rachel stares at her incredulously. Okay, it's kind of true, but it's not the _only_ reason she's here. "I'm here to apologise, and you're making it exceptionally difficult. I don't know why you're acting like a spoilt brat!"

"Well, you would know, wouldn't you?"

"Excuse me?"

"No!" she says, losing it completely as she steps into Rachel's space. "You're not excused. You're annoying and a pain in the ass and you're a liar, and you made me fall in love with you and now I fucking hate you." The world is suddenly spinning and Quinn feels so out of control, she can barely see straight.

Rachel is, predictably, taken aback by the venom in her voice. "Why are you so angry with me?"

"Because you are _ruining_ me," she cries, like a dam bursting inside of her. She just _breaks_ , and she's powerless to stop it from pouring out. "Because you are constantly _destroying_ me." Her heart is aching in a way it never has before. "You asked me to kiss you, Rachel. You asked me to _kiss you_ when you _knew_ I couldn't resist. You asked me to give you something that _broke_ me into tiny, jagged pieces, because now I know what it feels like to be wanted by you, for even a moment, but you'll never be mine. You asked me to kiss you while you were with someone else, and I hate you for it."

"Quinn, I - "

"I'm _trying_ ," she says, her voice layered in pain. "God, I'm trying _so hard_ to get over you, and you can't even do me the courtesy of _letting_ me. I asked you to leave me alone, and now you're here acting like you care and - "

"I do care," Rachel interjects. Then, and against her better judgment, she adds, "I love you, Quinn."

"No," she says, shaking her head as if she's trying to dispel the words. "No. Don't say that. Stop saying things like that. God, do you have _any_ idea how much damage you can do?"

"Quinn," Rachel says, stepping forward. "I _love_ you."

"No!" Quinn screams, stepping back and covering her ears. "Stop! Just, stop! You don't love me. You don't care. Don't you get it? This is what I _need_. I have to believe that for this to work. You can't tell me otherwise! I hate you! I hate you and your amazing voice and your stupid smile and your contagious laugh, and I hate that I can't stop thinking about how badly I want to kiss you and touch you and hold you and I don't want this, so I need you to stop. You have to stop because I don't want this anymore. I don't want any of this."

Quinn's voice is broken and she's openly sobbing, her body shaking. Her throat is raw, and she just can't seem to stop crying.

"I hate you," Quinn cries. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you." She crumples under the weight of her beaten, battered heart, and she drops to her knees. "But I love you. I love you so much, and I don't want this. I don't want any of this. Please. Please just make it stop. _Please_."

"Quinn," Rachel chokes out, and there are tears in her voice. "I can't - please, _you_ have to stop."

"I don't know how," Quinn sobs, burying her face in her hands. "Help me," she begs. "Tell me how to stop wanting you. How do I just stop loving you?"

Rachel drops to her knees in front of Quinn and wraps her arms around her, but Quinn resists, trying to shove her away. She doesn't want her touch or her comfort or her warmth when it will never be _hers_.

Rachel doesn't give up, though, her arms strong and determined as she keeps them around Quinn's trembling body.

Quinn continues to struggle, fighting and squirming and screaming and crying until she just gives up, her body sagging from exhaustion. She clutches tightly at Rachel's sweater and presses her face into the crook of her neck.

"You lied to me," she mumbles against warm, tan skin. "Everything isn't going to be okay."

Rachel lets out a shuddering breath. "Perhaps not," she allows. "Perhaps it'll be better."

"I hate you."

Rachel sighs, rubbing a circle on Quinn's back. "I love you."

Quinn tenses.

"Quinn," Rachel says after a moment, pulling away to be able to look at her face. "Quinn, I love you."

Quinn closes her eyes. "Why do you want to hurt me?"

Rachel runs a hand through Quinn's hair. "I broke up with Jesse," she says.

Quinn's eyes snap open, and she's certain the entire earth shifts beneath her… knees. Wait. What? " _What_?"

Rachel flinches at the volume, and then sighs. "We broke up," she repeats.

"When?"

"Umm, the day after you moved out," she answers, suddenly feeling two feet tall.

Quinn does a quick mental calculation. "That was six weeks ago," she says, frowning. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Rachel looks torn, unsure how she's supposed to tackle this. "I - I didn't know how to tell you," she confesses. "I wanted to give you your space, and I didn't want to be selfish. I didn't want you to - "

"What?" she snaps. "Feel guilty? Get my hopes up? Wonder if I stood a chance?"

"Quinn," Rachel says sadly. "I only did what you asked me to do."

"I didn't ask you to leave him."

"Not that," she says. "I was just leaving you be. I didn't want to be selfish anymore."

Quinn clenches her jaw. "You still should have told me."

"I'm sorry," she says, and she means it. She's also going to have to tell Santana that she was right, and she _really_ should have told Quinn. "I just - I needed time, too."

"For what?"

"I told you I wasn't going to leave him for you," Rachel says; "and I meant it. I left him for _me_ , Quinn, and I think that makes all the difference."

"What are you talking about?"

"I love you, Quinn," she says, and there's such a severity to her tone of voice that Quinn sucks in a sharp breath. She's serious. "I'm _in love_ with you."

And Quinn just starts to laugh uncontrollably… that quickly turns into another fit of painful sobs. This time, she shifts right away when Rachel moves to hug her, and the sting is a little too much for Rachel to bear.

Quinn's next words also don't help. "Get out."

"What?"

"Get. Out."

Rachel wants to fight it. She wants them to have it out right now, but even she can recognise when they've both been pushed beyond their respective limits. So, with a quick nod, she shakily gets to her feet. She bends to retrieve her bag, and then bends again to kiss the top of Quinn's head, more surprised than anything that the blonde even lets her.

"For what it's worth, I _am_ sorry," she whispers into soft blonde hair. "And, I do love you. In all the ways you're going to have to convince yourself you deserve from me."

And then she leaves.

Whatever shape the ball is, it's currently sitting in Quinn's court, though still close enough for Rachel to reach out and take it back to use in another play.


	5. xi, xii

**xi. please tell me there's a new beginning, and it's going to be all right.**

 

Rachel once watched a documentary on the treatment of animals in the meat industry - it's one of the reasons she's a vegan - and she thought she understood what torture was, but waiting for Quinn to… _something_ is on an entire other level.

Just, something.

Talk to her.

Agree to see her.

Really, she'll happily discuss the weather right about now.

The days drag, and she grows more and more antsy and despondent with every passing minute. She tries to distract herself with work and her cast mates and her friends. She reads novels and watches documentaries (not that animal one) and she keeps herself as busy as possible, but it only goes so far, because Quinn is _constantly_ on her mind.

Of course, she dreams of her, both good and bad, and she has to restrain herself from calling the blonde after a particularly terrifying one. She does send a text, though, and she finds a reply in the morning. It's just a quick one, assuring her she's fine and she just needs a bit more time.

More time.

 

More time ends up being thirteen _long_ days.

Rachel finds out from Brittany that Quinn actually flew home to Lima for a few days, and she visited Beth and her mother. She also, apparently, came out to Judy, which went surprisingly well. Brittany tells her that Quinn says it's going to be a bit of an adjustment, but they'll work through it.

Rachel also received Judy's blessing, which makes the brunette blush like mad. She can only imagine how red Quinn turned, and she can't wait to ask her when she finally sees her again.

Thirteen long days after Quinn said _get out_ , she sends a text, asking when Rachel will be at the apartment, and Rachel has half a mind to bunk her own show and tell the blonde she's free all day.

She doesn't.

They're going to do this right.

Which is why she finds Quinn waiting for her on the couch, wrapped in her light blanket, when she gets back from the theatre later that same night. Even though she's expecting to see her, Rachel's heart still leaps right into her throat. Is it normal for her to find Quinn even more beautiful now that she's accepted that she's so dangerously in love with this other human being?

"Hey," Quinn says, looking up at her with a shy smile. "How was the show?"

Before she can help it, Rachel is _crying_ in complete and utter relief, which draws a worried look out of Quinn. She rises to her feet and approaches slowly.

Rachel laughs through her tears. "I'm sorry," she says, waving her hands in both embarrassment and mortification at her own reaction. "I'm really okay. I'm just - I just - I missed you so much. I'm so relieved to see you."

Quinn smiles softly. "It's nice to see you too, Rach," she says. Then: "Tea?"

"Please."

Quinn disappears into the kitchen, and Rachel uses the opportunity to get a hold of herself. Quinn said five words to her and she's already in tears. It doesn't exactly bode well for the rest of the evening, does it?

Rachel strips her coat and scarf, and then goes into the kitchen to find Quinn leaning against the counter as if she belongs.

Which, of course, she does.

Just two months ago, this was also her kitchen.

As far as Rachel's concerned, it still is.

Quinn smiles when she sees her. "How was the show?" she asks again.

Rachel's smile is ridiculously large when she responds. "It went well. I almost missed a cue in the second act, but everything else went smoothly."

"Were you distracted?" she asks with a raised eyebrow.

"One could say that, yes."

Quinn just rolls her eyes as she turns to pour the just-boiled water into two cups. "I thought we could just sit at the table and talk," she says.

"Sounds good," she says, and then pouts. "No cookies?"

"We'll have dessert later," Quinn says, and there's a certain intensity to her tone of voice that makes Rachel's body heat up.

Oh… kay.

It's awkward for a few minutes as they settle opposite each other. Quinn quietly sips at her tea, just waiting. Rachel's resolved to let Quinn be the one to break the silence. It's deceptively difficult not to start speaking straight away, and she keeps having to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from apologising again or singing about how much she loves her.

Eventually - _mercifully_ \- Quinn speaks. "Did you mean it?"

Rachel is tempted to ask 'which part,' but she already knows. "Yes," she says. "Every word."

Quinn audibly swallows.

"I am dysfunctionally, hysterically in love with you," Rachel says, smiling slightly. "I am truly and utterly in love with you. I am hopelessly, ridiculously in love with you. I am - "

"You told Santana."

And Rachel runs out of steam immediately, dropping her gaze as guilt eats away at her spine. She sighs. There's no hiding from this, even if she wanted to. "I did, yes," she says. "I'm sorry."

"And Brittany."

"To be completely honest, I'm convinced she's always known."

"And Jesse."

Rachel _knows_ that's a deal breaker. She could have just broken up with him without mentioning Quinn's side, but she wanted to be honest with him. "I felt he deserved the truth," Rachel says.

"That's _my_ truth," Quinn says. "I mean, did you even tell him not to tell anyone?"

Rachel opens her mouth, and then closes it. "It's Jesse," she eventually says. "He wouldn't tell anyone."

"But you don't _know_ that," Quinn counters.

Rachel swallows audibly. "Is it your intention to hide?"

"We're not done talking about your betrayal," she snaps, and Rachel flinches. "Who else have you told?"

"Nobody, I swear," she says. "I _wouldn't_."

Quinn's tension eases somewhat, but she still looks uncomfortable. "I'm gay, Rachel, and I would really appreciate it if you wouldn't go around telling just anyone."

Rachel breathes out slowly. "Okay," she says, thoroughly chastised. Then, almost nervously, she asks, "So, you're gay?"

Quinn nods. "Yes."

"And this isn't anything new?"

"Not exactly," she says, absently clearing her throat. She's not exactly _comfortable_ talking about this, but she's going to have to get used to it if she intends to live the life she wants to. "I mean, it's been there for a while, but I've been able to ignore it. Boys are… exciting, but I - "

"You what?"

Quinn flushes slightly. " _We_ barely kissed, and nothing has felt as good as that. Ever."

Rachel joins in with the blushing, and they just sit there grinning at each other for a full minute. Rachel wouldn't mind living _this_ life, just being able to _look_ at Quinn. And, now that she's actually just _taking her in_ , she's pleasantly surprised and deeply relieved to see that Quinn's eyes are no longer pained.

It - it looks like she can _breathe_ , and Rachel doesn't think she's looked more stunning than she does in this very moment.

Rachel smiles slightly, forcing herself not to get up and do some kind of happy dance that Quinn is _here_ and she's _free_.

"Britt said you told your mom?"

If anything, Quinn turns even redder at the sound of that. "She was very… enthusiastic," she says with a small laugh. "I think she's kind of always suspected _something_. She looked almost _smug_ when I told her."

"Britt also said that your mom mentioned me," Rachel ventures.

Quinn laughs nervously. "I'm never telling Britt anything ever again," she grumbles.

"Liar."

Quinn shrugs. "You know as well as I do that my mom loves you more than she loves me. She's always asking me why can't all my friends be like you, and she practically jumped at the opportunity to tell me she approved." She shakes her head in amusement. "Really, I think she's already started planning the wedding."

Rachel's eyes widen. "At least take me on a date first," she jokes.

Quinn arches an eyebrow. "How does this weekend sound?"

Rachel chokes on the tea she just sipped, and she coughs a few times. And then she just kind of stares at Quinn. "Are you asking me out?"

Quinn nods. "I was thinking maybe we could just… start from the beginning. Somehow." She shakes her head at her own words. How lame does that sound, seriously? She's spent endless hours going over everything she's wanted to say, but she's never really been able to account for the unpredictability of Rachel Berry.

"Quinn?"

She licks her lips, searching and finding… words. "I did this all wrong, Rachel," she says, which is an understatement if she's ever heard any. "I should never have kissed you like that, and I should have been honest with you from the beginning, about my true sexuality and about my feelings for you. You deserved better than that, and I should definitely learn to read the signs better." She flushes from embarrassment, and nervously palms the back of her neck. "I'm still new to this whole _openly_ gay thing, but I'm working on it."

Rachel literally swoons.

A rambling, nervous Quinn Fabray is all kinds of adorable and Rachel is thoroughly charmed.

And, now, she gets to _say_ it.

"You are so ridiculously cute right now; I don't even know what to do with myself."

Quinn chuckles lightly, her blush getting more pronounced. "You can, maybe, forgive me."

Rachel groans. "Listen to me, Fabray, because I'm going to say this one more time, okay? There is _nothing_ to forgive. You did things. _I_ did things." She pauses and audibly swallows. "I - I shouldn't have pushed," she says. "Or all the other things I did that I really shouldn't have done."

Quinn just smiles. She suspects it will take them a while to get to a point when the past, uh, three months are just a memory. But she's willing to work at it, and it seems Rachel is too.

"We can start _somewhere_ ," Quinn says. "I mean, I kind of know everything about you already, but I'd still like to learn. I want to _date_ you and spoil you and touch you whenever I want and hold your hand in the street and kiss you under the stars and - "

"Yes," Rachel breathes, her pulse quickening. "Yes to all of it. Yes to everything."

"Everything?" Quinn asks, and her tone is coy and playful, and Rachel just knows she's in for it with this one. She wouldn't have it any other way.

"Date first, Fabray."

Quinn just grins at her.

"But I would really like it if you would stay the night," she says, almost shyly. "I just - I want you close."

"Okay," Quinn easily agrees. Then: "I'm not moving back in, just so you know."

"Okay."

Quinn raises her eyebrows. "You're not going to fight me on this?"

"Do you want me to?" she asks; "because I could think up a number of arguments. I can even get the _PowerPoint_ prepared if you want me to be truly convincing."

Quinn chuckles. "That's okay."

Rachel just smiles at her, her head tilting to the side. She feels calm and content and just… happy. She thinks about Jesse for a moment, and there's no guilt associated with him. It's more like determination. She hurt so many people - including herself - to get to this point, and she's going to do right by all of them by _being happy_.

With Quinn.

Who is looking at her with the softest expression, and if she just _knows_.

Rachel breathes out slowly, her right hand sliding across the top of the table. "I really do love you, you know that?"

Quinn's smile is _blinding_ as she links her fingers with Rachel's. "I know," she says, and her heart is beating so damn fast. "I love you, too."

* * *

**xii. every time you hold me close, i feel you're trying to save a broken soul.**

 

It's almost unheard of that Rachel is the first one to wake, but she is, and she's glad for it. It offers her the opportunity just to _look_ at Quinn. Who is ridiculously ethereal in sleep. It's not even fair. She just looks so perfect and angelic and peaceful, and Rachel could probably just stare at her for the rest of her life.

Just lying there, Quinn is almost unreal, dreamlike, and the warmth of her body surrounding Rachel is what she uses to keep her grounded. She wouldn't be feeling so content if this wasn't real.

Quinn is real.

Quinn is here, in her bed, _holding_ her.

Rachel's mouth curls into a smile, and she shifts, turning around so she can look at her properly. Quinn is perfectly still, unmoving, even as she breathes. Her chest barely rises and falls, and she makes no obvious sound. Her face is so close to Rachel's and she can feel her soft breaths. She can see the small crease lines developing around her eyes and between her eyebrows.

Signs of age.

Signs of stress.

Signs of _living_.

Rachel's left hand, which was actually resting on Quinn's hip, rises to touch the delicate skin of Quinn's cheek. The blonde wrinkles her nose at the disturbance, and Rachel giggles at how cute she is. God, she's adorable, and Rachel practically swoons as Quinn slowly wakes up. It's slow and graceful, and her eyes flutter and her lips part as she shifts and stretches.

And then she smiles when her eyes land on Rachel's face. "Hey, you," she murmurs sleepily, her eyes immediately closing again.

Rachel's grin just widens, and then she's reaching up to kiss the tip of Quinn's perfect nose. "Hi," she whispers.

"Mmm," Quinn hums, and it's almost a purr.

Rachel kisses her cheek next, and then along her jaw, the shell of her ear, the length of her eyebrow, her closed eyelid, her creased forehead, and then repeats the action on the other half of her face. She can feel Quinn smile, and she loves her.

She _loves_ her.

Rachel shifts again, lifting one leg over Quinn's thighs and, essentially, straddling her as she continues to pepper her face with butterfly kisses. She forces Quinn onto her back, and her fingers trail over the blonde's sides.

"Rachel," Quinn sighs happily, and Rachel doesn't think she's ever known a happiness like this. It's almost threatening to burst out of her, and she can barely contain it.

Rachel drags her lips down to Quinn's throat and sucks lightly on the skin above her pulse point. "Is this okay?"

"God, yes," she breathes, and she actually squirms under Rachel's body. Rachel experimentally presses down with her own hips, and Quinn sucks in a quick, sharp breath and her thighs tense as if she's resisting the urge to rise up.

It's the moment Rachel realises how much Quinn is trying to stay in control; how restrained she's being, probably in an attempt not to go too fast and possibly overwhelm her.

"It's okay," she whispers right into Quinn's ear. "It's okay," she repeats. "You can touch me. I'm right here." She smiles against heated skin. "It's real, Quinn. This is really happening."

Quinn relaxes slightly. "It's not a dream?"

"It's better."

Quinn chuckles breathily, and Rachel feels something tighten in her gut. "Oh, baby," Quinn murmurs. "You haven't _seen_ anything yet."

Rachel's entire body feels as if it's been set on fire with just the sound of those words. "Quinn," she squeaks.

The blonde's eyes fly open, and Rachel actually gasps at the sight of her blown pupils. There's barely any hazel left, and Rachel feels as if she's drowning in them. Or, she will, if she keeps staring into them.

"You are so beautiful."

Rachel doesn't even know which one of them says it, but it's the truth.

"I love you."

Whoever says that one also doesn't matter because the sentiment is mutual. Everything about this moment feels heavy, and Rachel's eyes stay on Quinn's as they both just breathe.

"Kiss me."

And, she does.

 

While she remains adamant she's not moving back in, Quinn spends every night of the rest of the week leading up to their 'first date' in Rachel's bed.

With Rachel.

Holding her.

Kissing her.

They're waiting to do _more_ , because they're starting from 'somewhere.' Quinn is just relieved to know that Rachel is actually attracted to her. Actually, _really_ attracted to her, and it always takes a monumental effort for Quinn to tone down their make-out sessions because Rachel's hands like to explore and her tongue is relentless.

Not that Quinn expected anything different, really.

They have lunch together every day, with Rachel venturing out of the apartment and heading towards Columbia in an attempt to coax Quinn out of her office. Once, they even have lunch _in_ her office, and Rachel leaves feeling acutely aroused and armoured with an arsenal of _Professor Fabray_ fantasies.

It's going well.

They talk, and they're trying to be _open_.

It's going _really_ well, and that's the part that terrifies them both.

 

Quinn isn't waiting for her alone when Rachel gets home from the theatre on Thursday night. She actually finds her blonde (girlfriend) sitting on the couch with Brittany literally wrapped around her as if she's holding her in place, and Santana sitting in an armchair.

Nobody is actually saying anything, and Rachel is suddenly wary of what she's inadvertently walked into.

Quinn looks up at her and smiles warmly. "Hey," she says, not even bothering to attempt to remove herself from Brittany's _headlock_. "How was the show?"

"Good," Rachel says, moving towards her. "What's going on?"

Quinn merely shrugs, tilting her head upwards and silently asking for a kiss, that Rachel willingly gives. As much as she wants to linger, she doesn't. The two of them are just getting used to this whole PDA thing, and Rachel is even a little surprised Quinn is open to it right now.

Rachel looks at Brittany. "Do I even want to know what's going on?"

"They're still not talking to each other," Brittany explains.

Santana clears her throat. "Correction: _she's_ not talking to _me_ ," she says.

Rachel frowns. "So, your solution is to get your girlfriend to hold her hostage?"

Santana shrugs. "How else am I supposed to get her to sit in the same room as me?"

Rachel shakes her head, and then proceeds to remove Quinn from Brittany's grip. She takes immense pleasure in whispering _Mine_ into Quinn's ear when she's finally free, and the blonde just grins at her.

Rachel puts out her hands and pulls Quinn to her feet.

"Tea?" Quinn asks.

"Please."

When Quinn disappears into the kitchen, Rachel turns to Santana. "You _know_ you're doing this all wrong," she says. "Don't push. She's clearly not responding well to it."

"I'm impatient," Santana grumbles. "She forgave you."

Rachel sighs. "And she'll forgive you, too," she says. "You just have to let her."

 

"You taste like apples."

Quinn smiles into the kiss, her eyes fluttering open as her body further relaxes into the mattress beneath her. "Can you tell which one?"

Rachel pulls back, furrowing her brow as she licks her own lips. She hums in thought. "Red?"

Quinn laughs. "Is that really the best you can do?"

Rachel's smile turns devious. "I think I need another sample," she says. "I can't yet give a conclusive answer."

Quinn's hands settle on Rachel's waist, and she drags the other girl on top of her until her own body is fully draped in _Rachel Berry_. "You're such a dork."

"I'm _your_ dork."

Quinn sighs dreamily. "I'm happy," she whispers.

Rachel kisses her cheek. "Me too."

"I'm scared of it."

"Me too," Rachel admits, lifting her head so she can look into Quinn's eyes. "I think it's okay to be, though. As long as we can acknowledge it and not let it get in the way of what we're trying to let grow here; I think we'll be okay."

Quinn's fingers dip under her t-shirt and tickle the skin at her sides. "Do you really believe that?"

Rachel kisses her other cheek, and then drags her lips down to a pale throat. "I don't want to believe anything else," she whispers.

"Because everything is going to be okay?"

Rachel giggles and nips at her soft skin, which draws a gasp from her. "You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"

Quinn chuckles breathily. " _Never_."

 

" _Quinn_ …"

God, that voice.

Quinn groans softly into the heated skin beneath her lips and smirks when Rachel's body arches up. Quinn's hips grind down, over and over, her naked centre pressed against Rachel's in an intimate, delicious way.

They've been at it for hours, and they really _should_ be exhausted, but neither one seems to be getting enough of the other.

And that's perfectly okay.

As far as first dates go, this has been the best way to end it: in Rachel's arms, loving her endlessly; touching her, holding her and kissing her.

The brunette gasps beneath her when she hits a particularly sensitive spot. Quinn licks along the column of Rachel's throat as she grinds harder. Rachel spreads her legs that bit more, hooking her ankles behind Quinn's knees.

"Yes… God, yes."

Quinn increases her pace as she nuzzles Rachel's cheek. She drags an earlobe between her teeth, and Rachel whimpers. She just wants to touch and feel and taste and she'll never tire of this.

"I love you," Quinn whispers against the shell of her ear. "You are so beautiful, Rach. So fucking perfect."

Rachel lets out a half-choked moan, her fingers sliding into Quinn's hair and holding her close. Her entire body is already so sensitive that it isn't going to take all that long for her to reach her release. She feels Quinn's right hand trail over her bare flesh, brushing over her breast and pinching at her strained nipple, and she mewls breathlessly.

"Quinn, _please_."

The blonde obliges, whispering how much she loves her, holds and strokes and kisses with such a gentleness that Rachel is surprised that this is the same girl who was fucking her into September just a half hour ago.

Quinn is safely nestled between Rachel's legs, and she lifts herself up onto her hands, adding pressure against both their clits as she rocks her hips in an attempt to get them both to release. She groans at the sensation, her eyes tightly shut.

Rachel meets her for every thrust, and her breaths are coming out more and more jagged. "Yes - yes - yes," she says, her breasts bouncing. "I'm - I'm - so - close."

Quinn reaches down for one of Rachel's legs and brings it over her shoulder, adjusting the angle and drawing a long, breathless moan from the girl beneath her. She kisses the inside of Rachel's knee, and then bites at the skin.

"Quinn!"

Quinn wraps the same leg around her hip, and then reaches down to kiss her. Hard and fast and gasping.

"Almost," Rachel whisper. "Oh, yes - Quinn - yes, yes, fuck, yes."

Quinn bites her lip as she thrusts harder.

Rachel's head snaps back and her eyes close as she releases a breathless cry. Her hands clutch at Quinn's face and she holds her close, their foreheads touching as they share breath. "I love you," she whispers against Quinn's lips. "I love you so much."

Quinn smiles, her heart soaring as she redoubles her pace and feels Rachel's hands slip over her shoulders and onto her back, her fingers digging into smooth, pale skin.

Quinn doesn't think she'll ever tire of watching Rachel come undone, her back arching, her heels digging into the mattress and her abs tightening under Quinn's fingers, all while her nails draw blood and her teeth sink into Quinn's shoulder.

Rachel cries out in obvious pleasure, and just the sound is enough to send Quinn hurtling over the edge as well, and they shake and twitch and tremble, and Quinn tries to keep moving in an attempt to draw it out for them both, but her movements are jerky and stilted and _God_ , she hopes it always feels like this.

Eventually, she collapses on Rachel, boneless, and the brunette just holds her close, refusing to let her move. It takes a while for their breathing to steady and, still, Rachel doesn't release her.

Quinn lifts her heavy head and smiles lazily at her. "You okay there?" she asks softly. "I'm not too heavy?"

"You're perfect," Rachel murmurs.

"Don't let me fall asleep here," she says. "I might suffocate you."

"I would die happy."

"But then you would be dead, and I would never be happy again."

Rachel kisses her softly, her lips lingering. "Are you happy now?"

Quinn chuckles in disbelief. "Honestly, I think this is the happiest I've been in my entire life," she confesses. "And it's only going to get better from here, isn't it?"

Rachel's smile is almost dopey as it spreads across her face. "If I have anything to do with it, then yes."

"Is this the same thing as 'everything is going to be okay?'" Quinn teases.

Rachel huffs. "Was I wrong about that?"

"For a while there, you really were," she points out.

"Shut up."

Quinn kisses her, slowly and languidly, drawing it out and enjoying the mere _taste_ of her. "Everything is going to be okay," she whispers against Rachel's lips.

"Just you wait, Fabray," she says into Quinn's ear. "One day, you'll be eating your words."

"I'd much rather be eating you."

Rachel gasps, and then giggles. "Everything really _is_ going to be okay, isn't it?"

Quinn grins at her, her own body practically vibrating with love and happiness and _just everything good_. She nuzzles her cheek and drags her lips to the shell of her ear to whisper, "This, _I_ promise _you_."

* * *

_fin_


End file.
